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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881104">A Well Oiled Machine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saokpe/pseuds/Saokpe'>Saokpe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24881104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saokpe/pseuds/Saokpe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>*Ducktales (2017) AU set about a decade after the show's canon, a future in which Webby, HDL, Violet, and Lena have picked up the adventuring torch Scrooge has since abandoned in his earned retirement. Unfortunately more has changed than they would like to admit, and other forces have evolved since their time adventuring as kids.*</p><p>After so many years of adventuring, Webby Vanderquack and her group of childhood friends have experienced most everything together. They're the most efficient adventuring posse a duck could ask for! That was... until a few months back. They rarely speak of what happened that day, but since then they've adventured one Duck triplet short and more than a few secrets kept. But that's in the past, and there's new treasures to find! And this might just be their most ambitious find yet! Hopefully no complications come from it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1: Unexpected Guests (Episode 1: Pushed to a Corner)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi everybody! My name is Dante and I'm a rather prolific fan fic writer! Not that I show it. Truth is, despite the concerning amount of work I've written, I've only ever published and signed my name under collaborative fan works, leaving my solo work to rot in my Google Docs account. I've decided to rectify that with this AU for the Ducktales reboot! I've been working on this fic since season 3 of the show started airing, and have since expanded upon it wildly. This first episode being but part of the first chapter of the story. I've decided to release it this way as to not overwhelm any readers, and to not drive me insane trying to revise it to perfection. I don't really expect anything from this release, just a way to clear my mind of work I'm proud of and if I'm lucky some people will like it. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>A feathered fist rushes through the air before landing square in the face of a masked individual’s jaw. The arm which delivered the attack recoils back to a stern position, one which matched the rest of the body. An adult duck stood no more than five feet, seven inches from the ground. Legs lightly squatted to a more balanced stance as they slowly retracted from it’s punch’s target. The woman scanned her surroundings, she faced an army of walking, growling corpses, all wrapped in bandages and masks. Their skin melted over the wraps, sagged, grey, and dead skin acting as a veil for the sentient, mummified corpses that circled around the overwhelmed fighter. The walls were far from well kept, instead ancient and decrepit, distancing no more than 15 feet from the center. Moss and veins grew from the erosions time had placed onto the bricks that made up the hazardous temple. As the woman’s back continues to inch closer to the center, along with the slow and deliberate crawls of the uncanny pursuers, noise reminiscent of skin gouged through spikes echoing with each of their plentiful steps, she collides with another body. She doesn't falter, remaining stoic as the hoard closes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This doesn’t look good Webby.” A shaky voice tells from behind her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instinctually she looks over to her converser, the sight of one of her many partners in crime, Dewey Duck, had found himself in a very similar position as herself. His usual peach vest was dirtied with congealed gore and soot. Underneath he wore an uncomfortable looking blue undershirt, though at this state it’s hard to tell the color it once was. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The woman now labeled as Webby grunted as she looks over to the wave of rotting flesh that only got closer and closer. Her defensive stance laxes the slightest bit as her right arm darts to her ear. The index finger lands on cold metal, a push followed by an echoing click. Her eyes dart through the environment once more as she waits for a response, the distressed search landing to the left wall, a few yards up. Carved across the dilapidated walls of the battlefield was a balcony of sorts, the far most wall too distant to see, a duo of silhouettes dashing across it until one stops and looks down directly towards Webby, placing its fingers to the ear as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Through the contraption placed onto the side of the temple, Webby hears a composed and strategic voice peering through, “Is there a problem, Webbigail?” The cold phrasing of the question juxtaposed the warming familiarity of the voice behind it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby’s previous face of concern forces itself to lighten into a more welcoming one. She responds, “Heeeeey Violet, no problem down here, nerp, how’s it going up there, you got that weird machine working?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uuuhm..” The disembodied voice contemplates the question for a second before a secondary, male and clearly agitated, voice interrupts through the speaker.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“These glyphs are nowhere in this stupid book!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The thoughtful Violet audibly flinches for a second, before responding with a simple “We’re working on it.” towards Webby, swiftly averting her attention to the frustrated and distant voice. “Did you check the appendix, Hubert?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The calm and reverent response is just as quickly answered with a rabid, “ANCIENT EGYPTIANS DIDN’T WRITE APPENDICES, IF THEY HAD THAT TYPE OF FORESIGHT THEY WOULDN’T HAVE PUT SO MUCH STEALABLE TREASURE IN ONE EASY TO SEE GIANT PYRAMID.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not even in the ‘Hieroglyphics for Dummies’ book I gave you?” Violet snarled back in a cold and bitter sarcasm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A third voice chuckles in the background, mumbling to herself in an amused giggle, just loud enough to be heard through the mic, “Hehe, nerd fight…..”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby, who by this point had her attention split between Dewey’s grunts as he fired his arms wildly at the approaching danger as well as her personal kicks and punches, has her feathers perk up.  “Is Lena still there?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes she is,” The receiving voice answers, “you need her to do something?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! We’re about to turn into mummy kibble down here!” The yell reaches Violet’s ears, no communicator needed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought there wasn’t any problem on your end?” She coyly snaps back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not now, Violet!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webbigail and Dewey’s situation worsens, both having reached the eastmost wall and if it wasn’t for their aggressive flailing of limbs would have long been at the fate of the zombie horde approaching them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The signal to Violet ends abruptly, leaving only the growlings and moaning of the decomposed humanoids in the silence’s wake.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One of the various bodies jumps towards the battle ready duck, only to be halted by the neck and thrown to the side. Seeing the situation not getting better, she looks to her right where Dewey also pushed and kicked another of the infested carcasses away. Seeing the wandering eyes land onto him, he shifts a gaze towards Webby as well. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His face doesn’t look concerned, instead a smirk can be made out between the dirt and sweat across his face. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a full proof plan to get us out of this situation. A little move I like to call the ‘Super ‘Dew’-per Ultra Awesome Destroyer Punch!’ trademark pending.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sliver of hope glizens the female duck’s eyes, “Really? What does it do?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>With the confidence he said the name, he responds, “No idea, just made it up, but I’ve never worried about logistics.” He starts to walk forward, as casually and arrogantly as a pre-teen shopping at the mall, rather effortlessly dodging the loose attacks as he made his way closer to the flood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby attempts to stop her headstrong friend though she is halted by the various mummies who now rained over them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blue clad duck stopped in place, corpses inching into his proximity. He winds up his arm as far back as his aching body would allow, his head playing blank nothings, perhaps a stray hit having temporarily stolen his cognitive thinking along the way. All his sides virtually surrounded by the impending army, he stretches his arm back further. Those closest to him leap to attack, dozens of sagging and horrid creatures mid-tackle towards the defenseless Duck triplet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dewey!” Webby yelps, her arms jolting free from the concerning number of enemies that scratched and restrained her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The warning seems to be of no practical use, instead it invigorates the dire duck further. He clenches his fist along with his eyes, his lower beak bitten aggressively. His joints snap violently forward, the jittery fist catapulting itself to the vague targets.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A volcanic burst of air pulls Dewey’s shirt and hair against his body, the temple shaking alongside the dizzying whirlwind that wafted his feathers. His clenched eyes refuse to open, the sound of cracking stone and screeching left to the witnesses' imagination. Seconds pass when the dry winds become more and more solidified, liquids falling across both foot soldiers' faces, washing over like rain-pour. Seconds further, now the wind seeming like a hose spray to the blinded spectators, a booming sound stabbing through the ears. Their feet shaking with every  harrowing echo and yelp that consequated the blast of air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes finally begin to open, the previously cornered Webby and Dewey welcomed, not by the increasingly approaching horde of bloodthirsty undead, but instead the immobile and dissected limbs of what was, painting the ground and walls in their inky black blood. The room’s movement decreased drastically, most every humanoid now laid scattered across the temple’s roof and floor, all corpses orbiting a smeared crater near the center. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit…” a semi lucid Dewey stares at his extended fist in awestruck wonder, rapidly turning his waist to see an equally shocked Webby. “You see that! It worked!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The duck stood in disbelief, her head racing through possible explanations to the sudden massacre that took place behind her closed eyelids. The thought is quickly subsided, however, as from the balcony a cackling reaches. The stare that previously afixed Dewford turns towards the incave, landing specifically on a miniscule beacon of toxic green. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure did Blue, you’ve never looked stupider!” A taller and lankier female figure laughed hysterically, simultaneously shaking her wrist as a green flame, embered in between her fingers, slowly dissipated. As her body distorted humorously, air expulsions and intake shifting wildly, a recognizable profile created itself. Lena Saberwing plainly wore a minty green button up shirt and a loose black cloth over it. Washed out pink dyed onto her hair which, along with the erratic movements of her hearty chuckle, helped little with aim. Though precision was never a necessary skill, the victims of her disastrous attack and the signified ring of green fire traced onto the temple ground proved to be sufficient examples of the fact.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph, watch out Lena, I might just take your job!” The adrenaline high Dewey fails to lower his boastfulness.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The spellcaster calms her excitement, a couple deep breaths and stray giggle intermittent with her response, “I should just turn in my two week notice now then!” She yells back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the two cheerful friends continue their back and forth, the relieved Webby begins to analyze the surrounding carnage. Her knees meet the harsh and greased surface of the ancient building, lowering her body but an inch away from the disturbed sight of a corpse far past its expiration date which had landed not far off from the standing position of the investigator. It’s blast trajectory underlining itself by the streak of carnage that leads to the figure’s legless body. The duck’s eyelids narrow, her fingers traveling in between the cloth layering of the uncanny sight. Upon removing the encumbered restraints, she finds herself face to face with the deceased creature’s mutilated torso. Although it’s safe to say that the monster’s flesh had weathered to time, it’s not as if there was much to salvage. The body showed but flesh and bone, the detailed crevices of cracked rib cages and opened wounds forming a window to the shrivelled kidneys of its past life; enough to turn a less experienced adventurer to a whimpering mess. Webby turned the body to it’s back with little hesitation, repeating the unraveling process from seconds before. What the distasteful illustration of the corpse’s front failed to do, the sudden reveal of it’s behind succeeded, halting the adventurer in her tracks. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A fresh memory rings through Violet’s ear, a call came through her like a rooster waking a farmer. “Webbigail, I assume?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you still struggling with that hieroglyphic?” Violet’s guess returns the cold greeting.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A voice Webby had previously heard dangerously agitated sulks loudly in the background, “I am broken, no longer can I be of use, I should be struck down where I stand for I bare no practicality!” Huey’s voice’s shakiness camouflaging in the still prominent ripples of Lena’s attacks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Violet adds to the melodramatic rambling, “Quite.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The caller takes hold of the upper half of the decaying corpse, standing tall over it, now better seeing the detail which initiated the question. “C’mon Dewey, we ain’t done quite yet!” She called assertively, placing her grip onto a tool laid by her belt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> The energized Dewey followed the allusive instruction, clutching firmly onto Webby’s vest. One hand pulled out a retractable grappling hook which pointed square in the balcony’s direction, the other lowered to restrengthen the grip on the mummy she had investigated prior, eyes still fixed onto it’s back. The back was charred and sagged, though a silhouette was clearly visible across its skin, a symbol carved onto the remains by some sort of dagger or knife, clearly reminiscent of a hieroglyphic, although none she could recall. Her mind fluttered, just one step closer to the goal, one puzzle piece found.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A gentle push of her contraption's trigger and a metal claw shoots onto softened stone, digging itself sturdy in the foundation. Seconds after, the two and a half humanoids catapult up towards the waypoint, piercing against gravity in a quick manner. Around five yards of travel pass until the ride stops. The claw, which itself is attached to sixty feet of hemp rope (much of it coiled), and the springlocked casing that held it, are left to hold the weight of its passengers. The pink and blue duo tilt and sway gently against the various makeshift joints which left the tempt stressed and pulled. Quickly, Dewey attempts to remove pressure from the device, climbing over Webby to make his way inside the darkened porch where his brother sulked. Burden lifted from the hook, Webby readies an easy hike, warming the shoulder for a swift leap. Her eyes focus towards the goal, her free arm flexing as they lift her weight up in anticipation, her lower body compressing into the core, and just when her jump began to extend, a striking pain crashed her trapeze. A curtling grunt escapes her teeth, her neck adding to the pain as it darts to look at the catalyst. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The cargo stared hauntingly into the eyes of Webbigail, hand dug centimeter into the dangling duck’s skin, crimson red contrasting the already dirtied white of her complexion. It shifted and growled angrily. Realizing it’s predicament as a cornered beast, the carcerated corpse took all action it could to shift and distort nonsensically, hindering both tethered figures. Webby’s neck continued the look-around, noticing that from the hollow beneath the various limbs and cadavers that rested bloodied and decapitated resumed their limbering movements in the group’s direction. As if the situation could not get worse, the claw, which she confidently held herself to, dropped an inch unexpectedly before catching itself. The battered brick the hook had grappled fell lax onto her forehead. Her neck ignored the searing pain and the rotted nails that probed its neighboring muscles horridly as it led the eyes on a search for any possible escape to the predicament. No avail, Webby saw nothing but more of the weakened wall that betrayed her currently, as well as dark corners which housed an increasing amount of obstacles. Her body stumbles an inch further down. The dilated pupils of a distressed and ambitious duck stare back towards the balcony. Her palm clenches and ripples, her clutched grip grabbing strong the desperate attacker.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> The arm coils outwards, the mummy dragging further flesh with it. Teeth grind audibly, tears clouding sight, ears ignoring the tearing of skin, nose willowing the scent of iron in the contested air. Her shoulder lowers in anticipation, rapidly forcing itself to the sky. In the motion the mummy is delivered into the caved in floor. Weight is once more removed from the hook’s load, only Webby proving a hindrance. She shifts her gaze slightly to see the claw’s sturdiness, a worrisome single leg still implanted into the cracked stone. Her now free hand launches itself towards the rope, pulling the rest of the body half a foot closer, a crackling sound banging as the metal clasp scrapes looser. The hungered wails of the approaching pool of liquefied egyptians that salivated her impending fall pressuring her ascent. A rebellious drop of sweat traces her brow, continuing the trail to her left cheek before dripping onto the open wound. Breaths prove sparse, her lungs threateningly non-functional. A deep inhale attempts to calm the nerves, her sway reduced to a break, utter silence only intruded by monotone growls. In a sudden move she curls her body to the core, her abdominal throbbing as the rest of her body attempts to keep up with the aching. Just as quickly the arms push downwards unto the grappling hook and her legs extend forcefully. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Webby’s figure catapults up, her hands abandoning the grip they had on the faulty contraption, the steel paw gives way, falling opposite of its owner's leap. Her body opens once more as the duck’s arms flail for anything onto which to grab on to, her safety net left to the wolves. The dizzied perspective jumps in and out of focus, every blink seemingly a foot closer to the balconies edge. An eternity passes when the peak of the jump is reached. Her hands fail to reach the floor. The face of cautious determination turned into one of imminent dread, her airtime stalling as she ravaged the winds for any solid ground to catch, to no service. She begins to descend, the low gargles of her fate’s crushed wing pipes screaming louder in her fall. Eyes close shut in anticipation for the hit, arms ready to die limp in defeat, the air’s strain no longer blowing across her face hopefully, instead dragging onto her equipment mockingly. Suddenly her drop is interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Heart sunk and eyes clenched, Webby’s torso bounces from the shoulder, a tight wrap felt on the wrist. Seeing her descent halted, she begins to cautiously peer through her eyelids. The adrenaline doubles her vision but, through a second of re-focusing on the figure ahead, she sees a feathered male balance his body away from the cannibalistic pit below despite his extended arm and torso shooting towards it. He wore a muddied, but rather expensive looking, green vest. The type of sleeveless leather vest you’d likely see accompanied with an equally expensive coat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeez, Webbs…” An unfortunately familiar grunted whine comes from a struggling Louie Duck, “...if you needed help this badly you could have just called me.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1: Unexpected Guests - Episode 2: Heated Reunion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After so many months apart, the silver-tongued Louie assumed that the group would be a bit more welcoming to his return, guess it's harder to predict these things than he thought, especially when a certain bow-wearing duck seems to still hold a grudge. A tainted reunion leading to heated arguments and worrisome reveals, I suppose not all machines are full-proof.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! Hope you're all well, so here's an interesting thing that happened when posting this episode. I hadn't checked AO3 since I first started posting the story last Tuesday and had not seen how it had been doing. I have to admit, I only every expected like at most 13 people ever seeing this story of mine and now that it has been seen by 118 people. I am EXTREMELY excited at the prospect, if not a bit intimidated, so thank you all SO much for giving this little fic a chance. Hope you enjoy this newest addition to the story!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Jeez, Webbs…” An unfortunately familiar grunted whine comes from a struggling Louie Duck, “...if you needed help this badly you could have just called me.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s little in terms of a response, just heavy breathing and accelerated heart beats echoing in the chamber. An encumbered Louie slowly reels his exhausted companion up in quick bursts, the well dressed duck’s lacking physical capabilities in full display. Despite the shortcomings and with a minute’s time, a hearty pull launches both Louie and Webby onto the balcony’s floor. A sharp exhale escapes both bird’s teeth, Webby finally calming enough to identify the location. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Directly to her right, currently in the process of getting back to his feet, a dapper Louie made his way closer towards the prone Webby. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Odd that I always find you guys in less than desired conditions.” A cocky smile stares down at her condescendingly yet sincerely, a complimenting open palm inviting her up as well.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stare is returned though dangerously distant, Webby standing in avoidance to the offered aid. “Odd that you always pop up to collect the bounty but never to do the work.” A cynical scolding rips away the arrogant smile, the one who spoke it walking past Louie sternly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Really Webbs?” The target of the cold clarification rolls his eyes before begrudgingly following behind, “Not even a “Hello” or “Welcome back” or “It’s great to see you after all this time”?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby grinds her teeth as she attempts to ignore the tasteless response, instead using the energy to extract a handkerchief from her person, wrapping it tightly on the open wound, to her body’s disdain. Without taking a time to catch her thin breaths, she makes her way through the mossy floor towards the corpse she had gone such a long way to transfer. As her distinctly more bitter aura hovers over the lively corpse, she sees Dewey a foot or two from it. A smile plastered across his beak and a stray giggle erupting from his mouth every couple seconds, he winds his knee closer to his core, kicking the gaping jaw of the crawling corpse every time it approaches. His juvenile eyes shoot upwards at the looming Webby then returning to the mummy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This guys great!” Dewey points at the rancid smelling decay in front of them, “I think we might’ve just found Louie’s replacement.” He continues to jest, a clear sarcasm doing little to ease the tension. Just as he says this, the mentioned brother walks into his peripheral. The playful kicking halting along with his grin. His neck slowly turns, a shocked amazement as the shadowing figure. Silence falls as he continues to stare.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby looks back at Louie, who glared at Dewey then Webby with an awkward, almost mournful smile, then back at the half of a crawling body. “Help me carry this thing, Louie.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, you must be crazy if you think I’m gonna touch that rotted-'' The spoiled ramblings of Louie get interrupted as his eyes meet Webby’s. His soul sinks and the sly smile he wore curves south once more, the eye’s of his childhood friend shooting a dagger in his direction which hovered centimeters from his neck, a gaze which seemed to have been passed down through blood. Finding it hard to swallow his saliva but much easier to swallow his pride, he stutters, “I-I mean, sure thing leader!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An odd chuckle follows the quick movements into a flanking position between both of them. Louie lowers his body in between the loose jaw of the horrid creature and his dear brother, leg’s shaking and head reeling back as he does. Webby emulates the position in a more fluid motion, this time taking its carcerated gash. Both glance to their right, now truly taking into consideration the balcony’s length. A solid hundred feet away stands this oddly shaped mechanism, although much of it has eroded and melted in the stone through the passage of time and from this distance proves hard to identify. Kneed by it are a collection of opened books and ancient tomes, as well as the ravaged and frustrated Huey Duck and the calming aura of Violet Sabrewing. The former wore a simple red t-shirt, the type he’d dressed himself in for the last decade, the complementing red cap withstanding. The former investigator wasn’t much different, a light cyan turtleneck sweater very reminiscent of her childhood design fashioning a more contemporary thin yellow cloth jacket over it. A bit farther ahead stands Lena, who had reserved herself to sit by a nearby wall since her fiery explosion on the warzone below. None look to have noticed the approaching party, nor the logistically impossible Louie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey, seeing his company slowly migrate deeper into the second floor, stands and follows with a cheerful pip in his step. Same can’t be said for his brother, who looks on the verge of dropping the luggage he raised in his arms, every snarl and groan sending the duck into minor panic. This paranoia is far from cleansed with his dear twin beside him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The excitable brother begins to joyfully speak, “How did you get here dude!?”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His attention split in two equally daunting tasks, Louie answers back in shaky cautiousness, “Just came to visit, it’s been so long after all.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Awesome!” His twin smiles brightly, a radiating warmth slamming onto the greed-driven adventurer. “Oh-” Dewey catches himself, “I didn’t mean the replacing you thing, I would never.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A guilt laced blade stabs through Louie’s heart, twisting with every juvenile retort his brother spoke. His worried demeanor drops to one of thoughtful remorse. He thinks long of what to say, not daring to look in the direction of his older triplet as he did. A second of walking passes when, eyebrows still tinged in self-pity, he looks to answer, “Thanks… Dewey.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately Dewey had already moved past the conversation, spending the following hundred feet trip teasing and poking the angered head, which in response extended his neck violently in his direction, missing every time to Dewey’s excitement. Enjoying the company of his friends as they continued their trench in tensed silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Looking for a distraction from the antics occurring beside him, Louie stares forwards, catching eyes with an uncharacteristically stone-faced Webbigail. He lightens at what once was thought a ludicrous event.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Louie breaks eye-contact, the distraction rapidly curling a smile onto his face. The grin then leading to an attempt to hold his laughter before letting it spill to his side. Webby looks across the body to the suddenly overjoyed duck, an eyebrow raising, the poker stare maintaining. A couple of seconds of hysteric giggling catches the attention of those who were previously engrossed in the mechanism about forty feet away now. The red cap wearing Huey drops his frustration immediately at seeing who stood chuckling over the long stretch, Violet tilting her head in disbelief. Lena looked over with a gleam in her eyes and a smile on her beak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He let’s his laughter die out rather quickly before recreating the gaze with Webby, “You sure wear your granny’s face pretty well.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby rolls her eyes and attempts to continue the march, quickly halted by her partner’s imobility.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m serious.” The charming sore continues, “Remember when we were kids? We entered the temple of Anubis and got captured?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because of you.” Her words emerged fast enough to almost trail over Louie’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well…” The high pitched warning of disagreement accompanies an unsure head tilt. “I was just thinking about how different that Webby was, we ain’t anywhere dissimilar, though it doesn’t feel the same.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That Webby was naive, unfortunate to see you still are.” The words pound Louie like a bag of bricks, his youthful tone dissipating with the impact. In the corner of his eyes seeing Dewey’s eyes widen and look over at the still bitter Webbigail then dart to the furrowing eyebrows of his dirtied though decently dressed brother. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Naive? Oh c’mon, you adventure for a living! You live like if you were still ten!” Louie retorts in a fiery bite.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you any better? Tell me, you certainly weren’t dressed for ‘adventuring’, what were you doing before coming over? Doubt you were raising puppies in your long hiatus!” The monotone that previously laced all of Webby’s scolds raises to a frustrated plea.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well it was definitely something much safer than this!” Louie gnarls back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Classic Louie! Abandon us if it means it saves him the trouble!” Webby’s composure flies off the window, her trademark energy manifesting in the snaring yell.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here now, ain’t I?!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The previously snarling beast had grown limp at this point, the roughly clenched arms weighing further onto Louie’s hands, not to his notice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen you in months! You didn’t even try to contact any of us!”  Webby’s angered screams turn into almost a demanding one, a question disguised as an argument.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Louie clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, the rotation maintaining to the side, his neck following the arc. His head flushes and eyes become rabid, he doesn’t answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby accompanies the silence if even for a second, allowing the burning heat of the tension to cool for a moment. “Why are you even here?" A dismissal weaves in the question. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No noise escapes the usually silver tongued duck, only the crowd of eyes the loud disagreement had caused populating the emptiness. Thick air lingers in the patient game of cat and mouse, absent clarification in the doubt raised. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A whisper, shaken and restrained, finally peers through Louie’s mouth, “I could leave if it’d make you feel better.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A valued response escapes the assertive Webbigail, eyes opening to see the somewhat hidden expression stretched across her past’s friend, that of hurt and anger, the type of frustration you hold when scared that tears would fly along with the words you would yell. Shame washes over her like a long-awaited shower, her stern gaze breaking and her eyebrows loosening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tension builds further in the elongated break from argumentation, both parties standing contemplatively no more than three feet from each other, eyes shifting and thoughts racing, though otherwise still as a tree.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “Dewey…’ Webby finally breaks the silence, “... help me get this thing to Huey and Violet… please…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey, stunned by the interaction that just occurred but inches from him, slowly turns to Webby, his agape jaw and widened eyes failing to seize. After a second of embarrassed eye contact with a regretful Webbigail, he shakes his head rapidly and answers, “Y-yeah, sure, sure, let’s ignore what just happened, that sounds right, yup, no concerns here, none at all, hey look a corpse, mind if I take it?” he rambles, forcefully taking hold of the torso’s arms from Louie’s grip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two of them continue over in utter silence, those which paid attention before attempting to appear ignorant of the event as they approach. They stand over the two Senior Woodchucks, both of which refusing to look at them as their shadows loom over. Lena’s joyful look before had turned to a disappointed and remorseful one, the only look Webby catches as her hands let go of the body. She tries to force a smile, the look returning to regret as the eyes avert instinctually.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The…” Webby lamely points at the back of the transferred cadaver, “The back of this guy has a weird looking hieroglyphic if you want to check it out."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Violet finally gives the decency of looking over, if even for a moment before awkwardly shifting her pupils to her side and then to the symbol. “Thanks Webbigail, I’m sure it’ll be of use.” She gives a forced smile and a nod before turning back to the problem at hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby returns the smile, though it quickly defaults to the resting frown she wore on the way over. Taking a better look at the machine she had spent the trouble to reach. She sees its construction to be mostly stone, although the pipes that traveled from its sides look softer and more malleable, perhaps made of some type of leather. The front has various carved wedges and handles, as well as a circle to the side with a stone basket underneath. Across the front is a long segment of smoothed yellow brick, long carved ruins decorating it extensively. Near the middle of the slab 4 circles stood, the formation leading towards the dispenser looking hole she had noticed earlier. Three of the fours circles seem filled with freshly carved hieroglyphics, courtesy of Violet’s hands. She could probably understand the hieroglyphics' meaning, though her mind proves distracted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eyes wander towards Louie who had moved very little from where he was left before, just having taken a seat by the inside wall, further messying his appearance. His knees bent close to his chest, his hand burrowing and digging through his hair as his face stares to the ground in self-defeated anger. While she stares, her eyes spot Dewey head in the brother’s direction, she breaks the glare, instead scanning the walls and ceiling for anything she could do as they wait for the code to be cracked. In a second of clear thought during this perceptive indulgence, she notices an unnatural silence, the moans from below having stopped with her heated discussion. This fact perplexes her for an odd minute, nevertheless, her head continues to passively scan. Though little in terms of labor shows itself, she does catch Lena staring her down. Their eyes meet, Webby giving and embarrassed and flustered tearing of eye contact, the long time friend chuckles in response and silently pats the empty space she sat by. Webbigail sighs, her lungs exhaling deeply and her shoulders slouching forward, she complies the request.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As her footsteps echo louder in proximity to the prone Lena, a conversation commences:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That went well.” The dry sarcasm proves to stretch a shy giggle on the bow wearing Webby.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“About as well as anyone should’ve expected.” Webby adds in a welcomed lighter tone. By this point having reached the wall Lena laid on, taking the time between words to sit besides her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The peculiarly colorful and taller duck stares towards the perpendicular wall, a couple feet far from the machine, where a mirrored image of Louie and Dewey sitting and conversing displayed. “I was never one for family reunions anyways.” Lena comments, not averting her sights from the green clad Llewelyn.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft-” Webby fails to hold in her amusement, “Family?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena looks over equally as amused, though her giggled expression seems laced with confusion, “Don’t pretend Pink, you used to love the fucker like a brother! Still bicker like ones too.” She almost scolds the denying duck, a bit too loud for comfort.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, shh, you don’t need to yell it either!” Webby leaps over Lena's lap, hovering her arms wildly over her face, attempting to obscure her teasing beak, a burning red drawn onto her cheeks as she does so.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine, fine, whatever you say.” Lena’s hand grabs Webby’s collar, dragging her back to the previous sitting position with an amused grin, Webby similarly laughing and smiling.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They let the moment pass in silence for a little while, contemplating on the short segment of interaction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby wanders her eyes while appreciating the company, seeing Violet now trace her fingers over the oddly stoic torso, relaying some technicalities towards her partner. Eyes continue the shift across the walls of the opened up room, eventually meeting the two brothers who spoke a good couple yards away. Dewey playfully punches the sulking Louie, him finding a bit of solace in the antics besides him, hidden smiles and chuckles apparent in the livelier body movement. Webby can’t help but smile sadly, frowning as their last conversation replays in her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I should apologize.” An insecurity rises from the quiet ask, one not unusual to the Webby from a decade past, perhaps.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena bends her body to look face to face her distressed partner, identifying the expression before allowing an escaped laugh and a return to the wall. “You forgave me pretty quickly, sorries tend to go a far way in your family.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby chuckles at the distant memory, a red faced aversion at the second mention of family. Lena relaxes her body, re-immersing herself in the calming silence that stood where tension once was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I kinda hope he stays for a bit longer than he usually does.” The oddly sincere comment from a smirking Lena catches the duck by surprise. “I miss when it was the six of us, when we were kids and used to go on crazy dream adventures and magic sleepovers. It felt nice, all of us being stupid together.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby falls into deep thought, a warm nostalgia flooding her senses, memories of the mansion and all the crazy things that would happen in its walls, even when Lena and Violet were absent. Though the memories sour. This feeling of betrayal seeping through, unwelcomed and chilled. “We’re still just as stupid just, y’know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>solo.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Webby’s say coming through regretful, non-ideal.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Lena crosses her arms and contemplates the statement, “I wonder about that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The meditative rest the team found themselves sitting in, laying in the midst of the atmospheric silence of the temple stone, is intruded by the sound of metal clicking. The room’s audience darts their heads in the direction of the decrepit machinery who’s unwillingness had them in a patient slump. Scraping of rusted steel and aluminium rustling and sliding shaking the contraption it ran through. Suddenly, as the noise of gears and tubes positioning echoes through, from the circular dispenser the stone carved, an eroded glass tube bounces across the stone basket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An awestruck Huey straightens his back, creating distance between him and the ruins he studied before, giggling manically to himself all the while. The cautious laugh turns into hysteric cackling. “Holy shit… Holy shit!” The disheveled and far from well-kept man turns to his relatively contained co-pilot who stares with a much more subdued smirk. Her chill demeanor is circumvented by the firm grip that’s placed onto her shoulders and the excited rattling that comes after. “We cracked it! We cracked the stupid ancient password!” He relinquishes hold and quickly darts to the prize the “stupid ancient password” granted as a result of decoding it. The glass tube, bookended by two slabs of decomposing metals, buckles gently in the excitable Hubert’s grasp. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The innocently loud theatrics occurring by the balconies west side attracts its other occupants. With a bit of a struggle, the four distanced figures begin to form a shadow around the two that cracked the tomb’s secret. Hand still firmly wrapped onto the cylindrical treasure, Huey extends his arms upwards in a demonstrative manner, his mouth still tracing a juvenile but sincere smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We got the map!” Huey yells in a state of pure serotonin induced bliss. His eyes dart to his right, slowly glancing across the spectrum of people that look down at him. Some show pride, such as the gazes thrown by Dewey and Lena, some a sense of shock and passion, a look painted clear on his leader’s face. Most peculiar, however, was that of his estranged triplet. Louie’s head tilted, rested on his shoulder, a doubtful eyebrow rising centimeters over the other. His gaze ignored Huey, instead eyeing the paper that rested inside the casing he held. Huey’s expression shifts as well, eyes avoiding anyone else's, his confident stare upwards turned to a meekly and shy glare towards the ground. Something uncanny sapping the immediate pride.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And… what is that again?” Llewlyn’s piercing voice stealths through defenses, its familiar yet uncaring and oddly serious tone cutting through wind like a knife.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Words attempt to fly out in response before caught, a bipolarity in the way the lion’s pride whimpers. A string of doubt flies and swims in the duck’s head, a billboard of questions and worries stopping all motor functions, except for his eyes, which forced themselves into a somber stare with its brother. His stare remains frighteningly bold.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a map. He just said what it was.” Webby’s laced statement breaks the previously held staring contest. Eyes stabbing directly into Louie’s, both expressions maintained uncannily staggered, Webby attempts to take the sealed parchment from Huey’s grip. Seeing the swipe coming, the previously speechless Hubert riles his torso in a swift dodge, shifting his worried glance towards the apprehensive leader.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The stare spoke of mistrust, a sentiment which mirrored his stern words: “I didn’t know this was confidential.” His eyes turned far from the gentle remorse that they took while in the presence of the owner’s brother, now a dubious and untrusting tilt painted onto them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Previously annoyed at the imprudence demands of the long absent Louie, Webby, now realizing the antagonistic light placed on her, lowers the stance to a self reflective one. “It-it's not…” She declares, a shakiness in her usual upbeat confidence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The group's unwillingness to intervene in the conversation is confounded as the voice of a clearly impatient and suspicious Louie says, “Why are you guys even inside this hell-hole?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His legs begin to pace to the now overwhelmed Webbigail, the unstrained ego of his words looming over her like the shadow of a beast. His march forward, the pressure of his stare scaring away any eye contact, is stopped by the assertive yet painless palm of a certain hummingbird. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now standing, Violet looked at the charismatic teammate in a cold and guiltless scold, “Those months away must’ve made you forget your place, Llewelyn. Could you keep some distance, perhaps?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His head looks to the pressed hand, a nervous giggle at the thought of the calm-natured Sabrewing sister’s intimidating statement. Neck tilts back to eye level with Vanderquack, now aided by the firm hold of a cautious but clearly unsure Lena standing behind her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A drop of sweat drips onto a dirtied green vest. “What’s that map for, Webbs?” The honeyed tone normally embedded in all words that escaped the outnumbered friend turns to a bitter and sour tremble. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes dart to the ground, a hint of shame and frustration powdered in the experienced Webby’s face. “It’s…” She starts, the impersonal positions they found themselves in proving unable to separate the emberrasement placed upon her. The room turns mute as those that stand in it wait in tensed imobility for a response. “It’s…” The second attempt provides the same result, words failing miserably to escape. Her eyes clench, air vacuumed inside of her as the accelerated heartbeat she attempted to hide calms. The woman’s spine straightens, head placed directly in the path of the interrogator’s gaze, quickly peering in a juvenile attempt to appear stoic and unfazed, much like a child playing soldier. Another second of unpitched silence fills between the cracked walls before a loud and shame-less exposition emerges from the struggling mouth, “That is the rumored map to the location of the Tool’s of Creation.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The crowd's silence remains unchanged, though an exasperated release of pent up breath diversifies the chamber's sound. Webby, panting lightly to herself, readresses the various expressions placed in her direction and adds, “A group of items apparently gifted by the gods meant to allow mortals to shape reality and are-.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s palm is suddenly left to the cold touch of the temple’s breeze as Louie slowly stumbles back uncoordinated. The heavy, clumsy steps compliment the distraught and dilated pupils that his wide expressions shot aimlessly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-super dangerous to get involved in.” Louie interrupts the apologetic monologue, catching the party’s attention. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know about the Tool’s of Creation? Louie Duck knows about prehistory?” An honestly taken aback Huey stares through in-between the neighboring figures.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Louie continued to create distance between him and the group, the sudden pressure to explain placed onto him though it proved the least of his worries. While stuck in his thoughts he places one foot over the other, his backtrack halting and sending the distracted duck to the ground. As his lower body hits the firm stone beneath him, his unflinching and horrified expression clenches and recoils, the striking pain across his spine snapping him back to reality. In the sudden jolt of clarity he looks to the crowd, digging through the wave of curious eyes to catch his inquisitive brother’s, “Do I know about it?” Louie giggles nervously, the uncomfortable chuckle turning to a perpetual groan as his knees crawl to his chest and his head burrows itself between them. “Oh boy, this is bad, super bad.” The muffled whisper peers through as the group starts circling around him in a dubious concern. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t get the problem?” Dewey, who proved the most confused of the circle of people, begins to question. “We’ve been on a BUNCH of dangerous adventures, what's a few more?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The perhaps misplaced optimism fails to lighten his twin’s sorrow, though the dismissal of concern does bait a response from the sitting duck. With a deep sigh and sunken eyes, he presents, “Because... I might know some people that might be in the market for those little artifacts, not good people.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So what?” Lena now adds, “You’re getting cold feet about lying to people now?” A judgemental and sarcastic retort pierces through, almost at an aggravated tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not!’ A sudden bolt of energy rushes in the sulking duck’s hand movements as his neck directs itself to Lena, “If it was up to me, they wouldn’t even know I exist!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I fail to see the issue?” Violet, in an equally unconcerned manner, asks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well…” Louie looks away as he chooses his words before turning back, a self preservation instinct stopping him from expressing the worry genuinely, a high pitched voice undercuts, “They’ve kiiiiiiiiiinda been following me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The catastrophically dangerous clarification, which even wrapped in its nonchalant delivery proved everybit as disconcerting, hits an attentive Webbigail like a truck. Her eyes widen, the world around her tunneling and slowing to a heavy jog. A coat of immense paranoia washes over the bow wearing leader. Palpable calmness pumps through her ears, her eyes bouncing across the now claustrophobic and approaching walls. Every rapid closing of the eyelids feeling like a round of russian roulette as her senses heighten in the gagged presence of the undead. The sensory overload of her skittish scan is suddenly pulled by the ears. </span>
  <b>
    <em>TICK</em>
  </b>
  <span>. The noise of a mechanic gears shifting sinks her heart. Her body turns suddenly towards the wall of people which slugged with every slight movement they made.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“GET DOWN!” Her scream curled, a whaling screech resembling most a dying animal.</span>
</p>
<p><br/>
<b>
    <em>TICK</em>
  </b>
  <span>. A second gear shifts, pounding Webby’s eardrum frantically. The woman’s warning turns the capable group to the ground, all throwing themselves prone, their chest and abdomen pressed harshly on the eroded and overgrown concrete floor, their arms curled in protection of their heads. Lena fails to follow her partners’ leads, using the seconds of warning given to dart across to the front of the face down bodies. Looking ahead, adverse to the direction Webby had jumped in relation to, she stands her ground. Her feathered palms clench each other, the arms they attached to extending as directly forward as they could. Just as quick as they shoot forth, they seperate and start to dance circularly, their movements leaving a trail of arcane, green energy behind. The power floats awkwardly before expanding, forming a hexagonal pattern and one half of a translucent dome which seems around 20 feet in diameter, a shield between the defensive group and the final </span>
  <b>
    <em>TICK</em>
  </b>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 1: Unexpected Guests  -  Episode 3: Obscured Explosion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What adventurer doesn't know how to defend themselves? I don't know but it definitely isn't this particular group. An unwanted army of guests have made a surprise appearance, as if one wasn't enough, and they don't appear to be friendly.  Webby and her ragtag crew of daredevils may have many surprises up their sleeves, but will it be enough to escape this predicament? Will the opposing side's own surprises be enough to overwhelm them? For their sake, let's hope not.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello! Episode 3 (or as it's labelled on AO3, Chapter 3), the finale to Chapter 1 (I should've probably thought of a less messy naming system), is here! </p>
<p>I realize I haven't made it particularly clear when I update this fic, but from now on I plan to add one new episode every Friday, so mark your calendars! </p>
<p>Either way, I hope you enjoy the Chapter 1 finale!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>TICK</em>
  </b>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A blinding light erupts from the wall the dome shield pointed to, its booming and deep groan clutching onto the ears of its target. The ground shakes as a fiery cloud floods the temple, swimming rapidly onto every crevice, though the dome Lena now groaned and grunted to maintain proved a sturdy enough shield to reflect the burning smoke. Cracks form on the already weakened floor, pieces of the foundation turning to pulverized crumbs and falling below, the same to be said of the corroded walls and destroyed ceiling. Large pieces of stone fall to the unaware victimization of the tensed group as the smoke begins to curve and run around them. The heat starts to ember the feathers that rose from their stressed state, the explosion’s boiling air scratching their skin. From the wall where the small nuke originated, now opened to the exterior, wind begins to blow the remainder of soot and dirt away, revealing the equally rancid desert sun. The walls of fire start to turn to small pits, the physically drained Lena dropping her magical protection as soon as it does, falling to her knees in exhaustion, gasping wildly in the earned safety. Her arms loosened and numbed, a lightheaded-ness falling over her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A spiral of smoke begins to slowly hover across the vibrating interior of the pyramid, obscuring the view of the team that now slowly coughed and wheezed as they stood. Dewey’s the first to jump to his feet, his strained barks and pained lungs inconveniencing the position. His eyes still slammed shut, the dirt that now floated around him turning any attempt to peer through the smoke futile. He takes a second to catch his bearings, the coughs and pants from those around him making it hard to assess his environment, especially when blind, that said, his ears remain alert. The struggles of his friends and the slight ringing of the explosive entrance falling to the background of his subconscious, all his clumsy focus placed on identifying any apprehensive movements. Whirling echoes fill his ears, the booming eruption still bouncing from the demolished walls, not that he’d know of the temple’s current state. The duck’s attention is dragged around him, his cautious endeavor only turning him paranoid as the rest of the group joins him in vigilance, their steps turning his unsighted body to them, startled. Most startling of all is the hand placed onto his shoulder. The overly suspicious Dewey rotates his torso quickly and unnaturally. Just as quickly he slams his own hand to his left shoulder as to catch the grasp that he felt swiftly fading, he catches air, puncturing his trapeze in the process. A quick groan follows the headstrong maneuver, him hearing the smoke breaking as an arm hides back into it. Before a second reaction can stumble out, he hears a whisper to his ear. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Get to the Sun Chaser,” the unmistakable voice of a hurt Louie grunted, “you're gonna be making a quick getaway.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey stops his throaty whine, giving attention to any further movements his aggravated brother may give. The shifting of everyone's ascent plants a doubt the instructions given, to abandon the clear threat. He optimistically waits for a secondary message to rebuild his confidence, answered only by silence. Even opening his aching eyes showing not even a slight shift of smoke to signify any active plan being hatched. “Shit…” He whispers, frustration seeping in his indecisiveness. He takes a final chance at finding the younger triplet, but in his consistency, Louie seemingly disappeared. The smoke obscuring any possible sight, and the groans and coughs that surround him obscuring his footsteps, Dewey disappears as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does anyone see anything?” Webby’s worried mumble flies between her hacks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence follows as they wait for confirmation or debunking of the worry placed on them by the question, their choked out barks held in its effort. Seconds crawl, the fog which previously flew slowly dissipating, beams of light creating shadows across the different fallen pillars that lay broken on the ground. The silence remains, sight slowly recovering as the rare beam of burning daylight color the drab soot that flew in its absence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t hear anything.” Huey answers</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It might just be wishful thinking,” Lena takes a break to catch her fading breath, “but me neither.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait…” Violet alerts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> The sense of relief is stolen from them as a shadow accompanies the sound of heavy footsteps getting louder and louder. Muscles tense, Webbigail preparing her body for the tussle that might erupt. Lena whispers a silent incantation, a similar hexagonal wisp of energy quickly forming, although this time jittery, threatening to disappear. Violet takes a more relaxed though equally as hardy position, quickly removing her outer shirt to reveal leather straps hanging from her shoulders, loose pockets populated by raggedy handbooks and old tomes. She opens one of the various books she wore across, its pages glowing an odd purple. Huey takes the time to slowly hover his hand to his belt as the steps multiply and approach. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The group stands still, their eyes slowly following the shadows like a predator to their prey, their stances reinforcing and their power magnifying as the shadows elongate. Their steps became deafening, though focus didn’t fade. Soon the shadows hovered over them, dimming the sunlight that rudely entered. It's clear those that stalked the smoke around them had yet to reach their target, or more accurately, them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena looks over to Violet, who delicately holds a helt journal in her hands. Her sister returns the look with an acknowledging stare, they recreate the gaze towards Webby and Huey who both return it with an accompanied nod. Lena stares back ahead, her body still stationed in front of the rest, and, with a plan in mind, she clenches her eyes. Thick and contaminated air enters her lungs heavy, her chest expanding outwards before the contested oxygen is allowed to leave once more. The banging of the heavy boots that walked circular around her falling to the depths of her head space, a tranquility, calm and silent, filling in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Channel the power, it's yours to keep, keep her at arm’s length, they’re a necessity, a tool.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her head remains still, thoughts prisoned with lock and key. Her mind’s hand stretched ahead, the pristine clouds that now replaced the dark fog parting to reveal an orb which floated just ahead of a barred cage. The hand approaches, slowly opening, ready to grasp, inching ever closer to the energy she needed. Centimeters of distance closes before, from the jail at the other side of the sphere, peers a vengeful yellow pupil, burning bloodlust in its biting glare. A smirk fails to contain itself on Lena’s face as her hand vaults onwards, clutching the beaming intensity of strength in her weathered fingers. She bursts her eyes open.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The hexagon pattern of energy grows suddenly, the weight of the power on the verge of knocking the still recovering Lena off her feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Violet starts to chant under her breath, a collection of phrases in a language last spoken a day far from the one they found themselves in today. An electrical surge draggin the girl inches from the ground before dropping. A heavy gasp follows the exchange, her eyes glowing in a whirring blue, the book losing its shimmer. Disjointed and deformed, in a tone much deeper than her own, Violet speaks, “I’m ready.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby lowers her stance, her legs stabilizing as she hovers her arms forward. “Me too.” she speaks in a clearly unsure yet tenacious manner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The remaining present member finally clutches an odd flask which hung tightly by the leather belt that fastened across his waist, lifting it to the sky, the final bits of cover that the exhaust created fading to the wind of the desert afternoon. “So am I.” Huey’s methodical voice speaks out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A worried smile forms on the front lining Lena Sabrewing’s beak, the shifting patterns that floated in her hand spiking as its energy struggles to maintain. “Well…” The track of the now numerous predators echoes closer and closer. Hands shaking and lip quivering, Lena yells out, “Let's get this party started!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The shapes rotating between the spellcaster’s fingers expand with her form, a similar enchantment wrapping the party in a hexagonal dome, enough power placed to shield each friend individually. The cloak of translucent magic ripples across the air, the dim light the ghastly smoke had left evaporates along with the fog, the energy pushing it to reveal those that stalked its interiors. Dozens of soldiers dressed in ballistic protection halted their pursuit, staring at their targets' boastful introduction. Pitch black vests and headgear decorated the small audience, a swat team type uniform though their chest labeled a different organization, “S.H.U.S.H.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Though many of them stood disoriented by the gust of wind the protective domes had caused, there are a few who take initiative and lift the automatic rifles they had been equipped with and begin to shower the group in bullets, each piece of ammunition bouncing from Lena’s enchantment. No more than a few bullets fly before Violet takes action. Her fingers contort, tensing wildly before lifting violently upwards, from the ground a sapphire collection of vine-like tendrils follow, piercing their caster’s attackers violently. An array of screeches and metal cackling with stone reverbates, a pool of blood dripping alongside it. The magical attack twists in its victim’s body, the hummingbird behind the attack hearing the grunted whines and tearful screams in ached remorse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Huey continues the train of actions as the flurry of firearms now begins to increase, those not restrained by Violet attempting to wear Lena's spell down. The Duck brother, an odd flask still lifted in the air under the constraint of his grasp, begins to twitch oddly, his free hand stabbing into itself as his eyes clench in self-inflicted anger. The glass he held starts to crack under the strain of his forearm, vessels starting to bulge and strike across his neck, his lean muscles tracing deeply. The booming echoes of the gunpowder leaving the springlocked guns that shot towards him only accelerating his rage, until the vile pops. The shattered glass cuts and stabs unto his palm and arm, the blood that escapes the wounds not only matching the container’s substance, but his hysteric eyes. Said liquids swim down his forearm, diving to the wounds created by its destruction, traveling the veins that almost popped from the woodchuck’s neck. His body starts to swell, his torso and arms forming various layers of skin and muscle, stiffening then laxing all bones in his body until he resembles the muscular and tall form of a beast. Little differentiating the furious Huey and a vicious monster, the duck growls loudly before leaping towards one of the various attackers. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby, seeing the sudden chaos forming around her, begins to scan the surrounding for a possible captain or perhaps even an escape route, tuning out the various screams and pained grunts of the soldiers her friends currently defeat. Her attention continues to be caught by the name painted ever so crudely over the waves of enemies, however, the initials creating an unease, a stale fury in the adventurer. Her head shakes forcefully, the unpleasant thoughts and questions about the situation hidden as her mind attempts to focus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> She notices the temple they stood in demolished and ruined. The wall where the bomb detonated is now only a window of the sandy dunes ahead, as well as an entrance for the insurmountable amount of S.H.U.S.H. operatives that climbed through it. Waves of humanoids filling the room at insurmountable speed and volume. Any other walls failed to fare much better. The roof showed similar issues, large segments turned to dust, the sun shining widely over them because of it. Most interesting she found in the perspective browse being the absence of both Dewey and Louie. Her pupils shrink, a sense of deja vu circumvented by a sudden and marked feeling of dread.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She turns carelessly to Lena and Violet, both seemingly having taken a toll due to their use of magic. The taller of the two notices the distraught Webby, the usually confident leader’s state sprinkling insecurity in the spell caster as well.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “What’s wrong Pink?” Lena begrudgingly asks, the answer scaring the still occupied duck. Blasts of lead bounce from the dome, each attack draining stamina from the shield and its caster, her pants lowering in volume as her lungs fail to catch up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby stares in return, an expressionless stare, complementary to the monotone response then asked, “Where’s Dewey and Louie?” The worst possible answer flashes before her like a distant memory, an aimless gaze painted on her stoically.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The occupied partner looks over then back rapidly, a knowing empathy stabbing through her chest. “Shit…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena attempts to maintain her slowly fading shield as she yells, “Pink! Snap out of it!” The scream falls on deaf ears. The pink adorned Webby stuck in a loop of pained recollections and pessimistic speculations.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> A shot hits the dome, Lena's knee buckling as it does. She pants wildly before stretching her arm forward in an attempt to strengthen the spell, another shot causes those to buckle as well. The hexagons begin to glitch, fade. The washed out makeup placed on the heavy eyelid now shutters, the eyes they belong to seeing the mayhem forming around, the gasping Violet still maintaining her curse, the monstrous Huey spilling his own and the enemies blood across the crumbling walls, the catatonic Webbigail, and the absentees. A defeated and accepting smirk forces itself to the woman’s beak, her vision doubling as it does, gasps turned heavy. Her arms fall limp, the domes dying in its listlessness. Webby’s sight slowly inches to a semi-lucid and smiling Lena, her trance broken, now seeing the dome long gone and its caster at her knees. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Pink…” Lena begins to speak, “... you mind fixing this mess?” The already weak duck falls to her side, unconscious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby doesn’t speak, allowing a burning anger to form inside her as the S.H.U.S.H. logo and the people that wore them continued their endless approach. Webby straightens up, standing in the middle of the battle that reigned around her, seeing the outnumbered Huey and Violet attempting to shield themselves from the blur of fire power thrown their way. Huey abandons his previous post, using his augmented body to helm the shots targeting his teammates, the leaping shadow landing ahead of Webby, Lena, and Violet. The monster growled and bled painfully, the mutation of muscle fading with every hit.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>  A heavy sorrow escaped Webby as she stood still, a burning rage channeling itself to her palms. Slowly they raise, shoulders tilting to face the sun that shone ever so mockingly over her. Her hands raised to its apex, the mournful act catching the attention of all that fought. Webby tilted her head down, bending her knees gently to the ground, the blaring of gunfire ceasing as she did. A somber tone was sung by those animals that could sing it as from the most tenacious adventurer known to planet earth it is heard:</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I SURRENDER!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 2: Consequences of an Escape - Episode 4: Interrupted Interogation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's easy to get captured in this line of work, but it's much harder to escape, especially when you're being pried by the serpent gaze of Goldie O'Gilt. It does seem like this day keeps bringing new surprises, maybe one will finally be beneficial; a coin always has two sides.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey! I'm running short on things to say during these opening notes so I'll just wish you a a good day, a healthy and happy future, and wish that you enjoy this episode of the fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bodies of a bruised and beaten group of adventurers are thrown to the hoarse ground of the burning desert, escorted there from the temple which now laid in ruin. Those four suffer very little in terms of constrainment, their knees scratching the bright yellow sand and their hands forced to their heads by the guns that pointed at them. Webby is thrown ahead of the other three, left to analyze the exterior of which so much has changed since they last stepped on it. As her eyes adjust to the bright yellows of the afternoon sky, she sees the parked, ink black S.H.U.S.H. helicopter which currently housed various differing forms of ammunition in its revealed cargo hold. Aswell she looks to see the condition of her peers. Her eyes first dart to the recently unconscious Lena, now awake though very clearly dazed as her head sways aimlessly with the wind, her eyes half peered and pale. Gaze shifts over to a heavily panting yet seemingly uninjured Violet, the exhausted woman looking over to Webby, an unstable blue glow still flickering in her eyes. Finally they meet with Huey, now back to his regular and much skinnier form, his shirt torn and shredded, congealed gore laid over him crudely. He didn’t hunch, instead straightened rather well, his defenseless hands clutching furiously to the back of his head, his teeth and eyes furrowed just as angrily. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Out of instinct, Webby searches for an escape, noticing the Sunchaser, well over a hundred feet away, surrounded by more of the S..H.U.S.H. foot soldiers that overwhelmed her crew minutes prior. She looks around her, finding no obvious crevice to sneak through in the wall of pointed rifles. Before the search continued, however, her shifting sight is brought silent as a shadow slowly draws near. Her eyes pull directly ahead, staring at the darkened sand the figure which loomed over her created. The arc follows through, her neck bending to the sky to the view of a well dressed female duck. Bags of eldered age marked the piercing emerald eyes that looked down at her. The woman’s blond hair glistens brightly under the shining sun like gold, the tux that wavered with the wind adding to the mystique. The recognizable smirk of Goldie O’Gilt arrogantly pointed towards the cornered Webbigail.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The elegantly dressed woman chuckles humorously to herself, confidently unaccompanied as she stood center and parallel to her prisoners; she speaks, “Well if it isn’t Scroogey’s prodigies, even in retirement the old stag is causing me trouble.” The shadow she cast begins to rotate as her body moves to eye the rest of the encumbered group. She adds, “...Yet no sign of mine… Mind telling me where could my dear Sharpie be?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Webby snarls between her graceless stares.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>O’ Gilt stops her round-about, the smile still wide as she shifts her attention to the stern leader. “Webbigail Vanderquack, is it?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No answer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a bummer you declined our invitation, you’d have been such a nice toy to have in the agency.” The artificial tease works only to anger the already annoyed Webbigail even further, the unwelcomed reveal creating some confused stares from both Violet and Huey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… Louie was right, you’re such a bad liar.” Her steps sink onto the desert dunes as she approaches the woman, placing her finger by her chin, pushing it slightly upwards to meet her arrogant gaze. “Honesty is such an important part of life, let’s try to practice a little bit more of it.” The kneeled duck violently shakes the age-less interrogator away, leading to a surprised smirk from the woman.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Working for S.H.U.S.H.? Not something expected of the infamous Goldie O’Gilt.” Violet finally intersects between her vigor-less gasps, successfully catching the person of interest’s attention.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, miss Sabrewing, you can’t always do what you prefer, in all honesty this arrangement is pitiful.” The cockiness that spewed from the woman dissipates into honest dread, a sense of sincerity in her whines. “Taking orders from a couple of jack-asses that swear they rule the world because they once worked with some washed-out vigilante. They think they're so inflatable, nothing gets past them. I’m walking proof THAT'S not the case.” She continues the rant, letting her mind wander as she does. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As she rambled, Webbigail continues her silent seething, her mind racing to find a way past the guards which pointed at them, every possible plan sidetracked by thoughts of Louie and his possible role in this unholy predicament she was found in. This loop is suddenly halted as her attention turns to a familiar weight which pulls her belt tighter. In rabid adrenaline she looks to her side to see nothing but her demoralized teammates and the still ranting Goldie. She bolts her sight to the belt which tilted ever heavier to the surprising view of a once lost grappling hook hanging neatly in its assigned compartment. Wildly, she looks for an explanation to the sudden reappearance of the tool, seeing not even a marked footstep in the sand around her, though her search doesn’t prove fruitless as when she looks over to the Sunchaser; resting stealthily at the cockpit was its usual blue wearing pilot.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widen, a glimmer of hope flashing over them, quickly darting to her captor as to avoid suspicion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The tux wearing O’Gilt returns to the middle of the diamond the four colleagues created, with a heavy sigh finalizing her hateful speech. She clarifies in an almost defeated tone. “Well anyways, back to my first question. Sharpie, where is he?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tensed silence continues.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh.” Goldie rolls her eyes before coming close to the group and whispering, “Look, I’m not gonna hurt him, I’m trying to work on something a little bit a bigger than </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now and I need to build up trust with the assholes up top, so if-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her incognito conversation is interrupted by a barely vivid Lena’s giggles. Goldie straightens up as she waits for the roguish duck to finish, fixing her professionalism in patience, an eyebrow raising at the sudden laugh. In the silence, Lena asks innocently and carelessly, “Why are you calling him ‘Sharpie’?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The question pops the first genuine and cherished smile Mrs.O’Gilt has had all afternoon. She chuckles as she recollects the pet name, “Well…” Her eyes dart over to the barely attentive asker, “Mainly because the kid likes to act like he’s the sharpest person in the world.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her non-vigilant stare persists half-heartedly as she continues to remember the name, that is until, from thin air, a curved and golden blade transmutes and hovers around her exposed neck. The sound of shuffling armament and steel blasts as all surrounding soldiers shift their aim towards the figure that threatened their boss’s neck.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t shoot!” Goldie yells, her relaxed smirk fading entirely, her breath dropping, the surprise plummeting her heart.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence booms for a couple of seconds, the only noise heard in the burning sauna being the difficult gasps for air coming from a shaking Louie Duck, blood dripping across his abdomen as he held his precious curved falchion inches from O’Gilt’s jugular. A prideful smile still marked his clearly un-well complexion, in between his breaths the words, “I don’t know Aunty, I’d like to think I’m pretty sharp.” Slyly comment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The center of attention left his surroundings quiet, his seemingly magical apparition leaving those bystanding at a loss for words. Deafened onlookers left in the stale-mate, the warming breeze only subsided by the rattling sound of a whirring engine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A second shadow starts to wash over the beaten and astonished concert, the echoing booms of metal meeting metal catching the previously fixed gazes. As the collective shift of attention transfers to the intruding sounds, bright orange sparks spot the red exterior of the sizable Sunchaser, the plane wobbling as it struggles to escape the pit of sand it parked in. Those stationed to keep watch of the vehicle shot maniacally at the ship, streams of burning lead bouncing and indenting the levitating airship. Many of the S.H.U.S.H. members which pointed threateningly at Louie second-handedly opening fire on the escaping Dewey Duck as his means of ascent distanced. The blaring sound of turning engines and scrapping lead fails to hide the far from innocuous screech of the plane’s entrance slamming open. The shadowed and dark insides shine through, an off kilter figure standing in the exposed exterior. Hair flowing roughly through the mid-afternoon gust, bright yellows lighting a dirtied complexion, Dewford Dingus Duck held tight with a confident smile, his arms arching in a welcoming motion.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The situation unfolded in the span of time a bolt of lightning would strike in, a collective and understanding catch of the eye falling upon the childhood friends. With security laxed and them no longer the center of attention, a laid out plan formed almost telepathically. A perceptive glance assured moderate safety, a feet of sand marking the distance between them, the same measurements for the distance between them and the honestly bewildered Goldie O’ Gilt. Eyes meet with Louie’s, a sense of overwhelmed nerves flashing in the look, though it quickly turns to a deceptive smirk as his eyes broke and his grip tightened.</span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine, I’m right behind you!” The living distraction reassures.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> A sense of deja vu struck Webbigail, the odd sentiments compounded by the sudden jump that followed. Her feet land standing, though not discrete, she was seemingly uncared for. Before reaction could follow her peers, her fingers grip tightly over the recently regifted grappling hook and the barely conscious Lena that her leap stationed her next of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Deafening rings of gunfire take the air of white noise, the auditory cover hiding the propelling hooked rope that shoots from Webby’s tool’s barrel. Seconds of travel continue until it joins the various other metals that struck the Sunchaser. The domino effect begins.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the plan taking form over the exterior of his ride, Dewey returns to pilot the ship, raising it and its newly found passengers inches from the ground. Violet and Huey bolt to their feet, those soldiers which stood beside them just now noticing the attempted escape, though not quick enough to halt the shoves the running rogues threw in their direction. They sprint over, guards ignoring the floating vesile and now aiming their fire towards the prisoners. Webby hovered about a feet from the ground, the craft’s mile high ascension lifting the wounded duck. Violet clutches the woman’s ankles, the increasing altitude only worsened by the equally ramping barrages of lead shot their way. Followed was Huey, gripped ferociously the hurting legs of an exhausted Sabrewing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The egyptian blade tilts threateningly over Goldie’s chin as she yells, “Don’t shoot them you idiots! Our bounty's right here!” The order rings clear, the menacing line of bullets dropping, the recovering silence used to accelerate the escape. The grappling hook’s gears give and roll, the humanoid ladder flying off the desert ground, shooting dozens of yards a second towards the open cargo bay. Sharpie stares as his friends turn to miniscule figures hollowed by the shining sky light. A melancholic smile turns, the relief that filled him suddenly stolen by the troops that seconds ago unloaded in the escapees direction now shuffling to circle the violent duck. His surrounding is devoid of escape routes, no one to trust on saving him, his palm shakes though his grip stays, heavy pants only accelerated. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A second continues with patience as the rest of the group rushes far past what is reasonable to pursue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotta say kid, really surprised me this time.” A smooth tone begins to fly from Goldie’s previously quivering beak. “Though this seems a bit extreme, especially for you.” her eyes lower to the vibrating falchion that orbited her throat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A slightly calming chuckle spews from Louie, his sweated expression not fading in the act.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You becoming a S.H.U.S.H. agent?” A similarly juvenile laugh escapes Goldie as well, though her body dared not move, “Should’ve known it was an act.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It takes one to know one, Operative O’ Gilt.” Louie teased cautiously.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It's customary of our kind to use up an unlikely resource then escape with the better deal, you’re no stranger to the concept.” She explains, the tension of the scene lost in the banter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, odd…” The cornered duck asks sarcastically, “‘Becoming a lap dog isn’t in my handbook.” A triumphant arrogance pours thick from the mocking words, the rifles raising as the words ooze out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmph,” The elderly duck scoffs, humored, “Scroogey’s righteous ideology is growing on you. I don’t want to say I’m disappointed, maybe-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Jealous?” Louie’s confidence reignites in the interruption.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shocked, Sharpie, shocked!” Goldie screams in ridicule, “I’m shocked that YOU of all people would be holding a sword to my neck! Though I suppose I tend to have that effect on men.”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of the refugeeing Sunchaser fills the void the conversation holds, O’Gilt waiting patiently for the danger to pass, the menaced Llewelyn Duck not letting up the blade, allowing for the plane to flee.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The catapulting group Webby led to the ship’s open entrance slam harshly on the sizzling metal of the ship, the impact almost slipping their grip. Groans echoe with the impact, though in due time the quadlet rolls core of the interior. The group all fall face up, staring at the loose and shaking roof, the floor's vibration calming their heavy gasps for air. They continue to lay in contemplation as the planet’s surface distances, the slight piece of tranquility suddenly ended by the quick ascension of Violet Sabrewing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Still breathless, she comments, “Welp… that was a mess.” Her voice now returned to its normal tone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me about it.” Webby adds, still staring at the ceiling purposeless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hehe, Sharpie…” Lena whispers, her stupefied mannerisms lightening the room if even slightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Webby gives a final sigh, extending her arms back then pulling them forward, using the weight to force her torso to a sitting position. “We should probably get her some water.” She looks over to Violet as she says this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two walk over to the laying Lena, cradling the concussed woman towards one of the various shredded and untidy chairs. While this occurred, Hubert stood unbalanced on the ship's deck, tumbling half awake towards the cockpit, falling lamely over the co-pilot chair next to his focused brother. His neck rests dreadfully unattached, eventually straightening as the sway of the wings threaten him with an earned sleep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We got the map at least.” Huey tosses the glass cylinder over the view of the cockpit window.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” His brother fails to pay attention.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Half peered eyes traveled to see Dewey’s bug eyed ones. The uncanny expressions bolting his open as well, the previously relaxed feathers of the tired duck reeling tall. “What’s the matter?” Huey asked, almost scared of the possible answer, noticing his brothers seemingly uncaring of the wheel he supposedly steered.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Louie…” Dewey stutters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Louie?” Huey’s sudden panic mellows as he prepares for the routine tangent to fall between his teeth.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine without us, he escapes this type of thing on a daily basis, he even told us he’ll be fine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s the thing-” Dewey points down at the sandy flooring, “-he’s still there!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Episode 5: Horrid Turn of Events - Chapter 2: Consequences of an Escape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Louie way able to buy his friends enough time to escape from S.H.U.S.H.'s corrupted hands, will he be able to give himself the same luxury? He does have an ace up his sleeve, a very sought after ace. Will Goldie really let him leave with it still in his possession?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>*ARCHIVE WARNING* *PLEASE READ* Hey guys, today I have a rather long Episode to share to make up for the previous shorter ones, additionally it's also the Chapter 2 finally! That said, some may have noticed the Archive Warning I tagged this fic with, and although previous episodes had yet to put those warnings into play, this episode definitely does and as such I want to issue the following warning.</p><p>IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO DEPICTIONS OF DEATH AND VIOLENCE THIS MIGHT NOT BE THE EPISODE FOR YOU. I WILL BE PLACING A WARNING ON THE PARTICULAR SCENE WHERE THESE WARNING COME INTO PLAY SO IF YOU DO WISH TO READ YOU CAN SKIP THOSE PARTS SPECIFICALLY, CONTEXT CLUES SHOULD BE ENOUGH TO CLUE YOU IN ON WHAT HAPPENED.</p><p>Thanks for your time and please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“It’s Louie…” Dewey stutters out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Louie?” Huey’s sudden panic mellows as the routine tangent falls between his teeth.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine without us, he escapes this type of thing on a daily basis. Plus, he told us to not worry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s the thing-” Dewey points down at the sandy flooring, “-he’s still there!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Anxiety shoots through the spine as the red capped duck stands to look down at the pointed view, seeing the sword of a dangerously surrounded triplet still marked on the enemy’s neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to go and help him!” Dewey faces the looming brother, an eccentricity returned in his manner of speech.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s a death wish!” He responds, a sense of guilt peppering the stare as it ravages through the manic eye’s of Dewey Duck before returning to look at his younger triplet, “I’m sure he has a plan, he always does.” Insecurity shoke his almost whispered words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seconds of little alteration to the ground position begins to form impatience in the conniving Goldie O’Gilt, an exasperated sigh leading to a dryer ask, “You’re real adamant about this, ain’t ya?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Means to an end, really.” Louie stumbles to hide his forcefully relaxed tone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goldie’s expression turns to a snarled gaze towards the equally measured duck before acting a more remorseful one, “I assume you’re gonna be coming with us?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The woman’s peripheral focuses on the adrenaline fueled refuge, noticing his stare targeted on the increasingly distant Sunchaser. Attention split, he responds, “That doesn’t quite sound like me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well aren’t you cocky? Then tell me Sharpie, since you’ve got such a clear image of how this is gonna play out, how do you plan to escape this one? Cause the way I see it, I have a dozen rifles pointed at your head.” A clear and threatened promise strikes the already strained Louie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve learned quite a bit about this toy in the past couple weeks,” The Duck triplet begins to retract his free hand from his fancied clothing’s pockets, those noticing readying their shot as he does, the act stopping the retrieval halfway. “I see why they want it so bad, though I can’t find any use you’d have for it. It’s not exactly expensive looking.” Displayed doubt prefixed the clarification.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“People in high places want it, people that I’d like to be well acquainted with, so I’m gonna ask this only once.” Goldie’s charismatic dialect turns dark as she shortens the distance between her neck and the blade’s edge, the stolen space allowing a crimson gaze to retch the sword’s holder. “Hand over the artifact.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A heavy and uncomfortable gulp travels through a clearly intimidated Louie Duck’s throat, the veiled threat almost dropping the scratching blade from the furrowed O’Gilt. A comment catches itself at the core, the pale complexion of his injured and dishonest behavior shattering, leaving a loss in its wake. His mind scatters, thinking of any motivation to continue with his plan, ironically finding solace in the familiar emerald eyes that scared him so. A nervous giggle follows, the levity lost on the still intent eye contact. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing the shaking that invaded his body, Louie replies, “O-or what?” His stutter tarnishes any intimidation that could’ve possibly accompanied the ballsy retort, not that his worried body language would’ve allowed for it to become anything more than a disingenuous boast. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The staring contest continues for a second further before it's broken without warning. Goldie separates her body from the unstable blade, chuckling lightly to herself as she reassembles her clothing. “I saw a lot of potential in you Sharpie, even when you sacrificed your gold to save me ... such a naive mistake.” A laugh breaks at the final added segment, a small wait for a possible sly comment or sarcastic retort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hollow compliments run background to the still unsure Louie’s continual fiddling with the item he pocketed, these movements at far better discretion than before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A heavy sigh sounds loud and dreadful, pained looks shot offward in the prospector’s face. Silence is allowed as Louie continues to prepare his last resort. Sorrow begins to dance across the tangled mentor and her rebellious student, an air of quick misery lost on the latter. Similarly lost being the shy nod Goldie gave to the soldiers around, all lifting their weapon steady in bitter synchronization. Blissful ignorance populated the soon to be executed victim’s head, his escape seconds from completing. A final breath expands Goldie’s lungs, the saddened exhale delivered along with the striking command, “Fire.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>SKIP IF SENSITIVE TO DEPICTIONS OF DEATH AN/OR VIOLENCE</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>An arcane click travels along with the burning pieces of lead that pierces and twists through Louie’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“LOUIE!” A blood-curdling screech echoes sharply through the cockpit’s walls. The sudden splash of scarlet fluid flying frantically from the instantly contorted brother plays gruesomely to their attentive eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sword plummets as its grip tenses and releases in pain, sinking solemnly in the sand below. A second bullet stretches and tears through the distorted and dragged abdomen, blood splattering over the orange grains which they stood on. A cough follows the shot, blood spilling with the cackle. His eyes darted wide open, wildly looking for an escape, a way to talk his way out the situation, the third blast shreds those possibilities. A fourth shot continues, then a fifth, then a sixth, then count is lost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dance of smoke and the puppeteering of Louie’s limp body with the streak of lead that the burning barrels protruded displayed clearly over the still hovering, and ever distancing, plane window. The pilot begins to pant wildly, a rabid expansion on his chest as he screams out once more, though with a sense of grief instead of anger, “LOUIE!” Dewey sucks up all the air possible, his eyebrows furrowing and quivering over his teared and aching eyes. His arm rocks to the right, the nose of the plane tilting with it, a u-turn forming before it's forced back straight by the sinking grip of Huey Duck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay on track.” A non-caring monotone demands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean stay on track!? Are you crazy-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>”Stay on FUCKING track!” Dewey turns his attention to the older brother as his nails dug deeper into his forearm, seeing the abundant streaks of tears that run across the furious stare of the red eyed duck. The middle child’s face contorts crudely, his palms releasing from the wheel, shooting the ship back in the direction away from the witnessed execution. Sobs are heard from the scolded duck as his body curls into itself, the piloting roll taken by the furious grasp of his brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quick steps echo in the abandoning ship, Violet and Webby stumbling recklessly into the cockpit, their eyes haunted by the assumptions the cries and yells created. No one welcomes them, the silent and not so silent grieving continuing without interruption. The unaware duo jump to the front of the piloting quarter, looking off to the horrid sight of their worst hypothetical. Their eyes dialate, widening in horror as the sight renders in front of them. Violet turns violently, knocking herself to the nearest wall drunkenly, a nauseating kick slamming across her stomach.  Webby maintains the stare, the words which could explain the gruesome sight failing to escape, her mouth agape to catch the driver of salted tears which emitted from her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Seconds of inexpressive crying pass, stopping only when her eyes force shut. She falls limp over the controls. Shock paralyzing the sulking body, the darkness of her eyelids only flashing the visual of a dissected Louie Duck peppered head to toe in cherry gore and bullet wounds, lifeless and cold in the hands of his killers. Her previous conversation with the expired friend flashes alongside it, the steak pushed deeper in her heart with every recounted word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Violet’s gasps for air travel harshly through her salivating and watered face. Stray tears bouncing over the flooring in between her disgusted pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Deep and intense gasps fill the already heavy air of the hovering cockpit. Clenched muscles juxtaposing weak sobs and pitied thoughts. Silence flies, those present hovering through increasingly dark and bitter hypotheticals. The cold and increasingly larger spot of vitriol clouds the teary eyes of the conscious group, vague smiles and snarky remarks spoken softly through their ears like melancholic memories. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>YOU CAN COME BACK NOW</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours seem to pass in this turmoiled calm, grief setting quickly and painfully through their chest until suddenly, from the cargo hold they had left an almost unconscious Lena in, the loud echo of mass hitting metal interrupts, followed quickly by shifting balance and a low, struggling groan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The four adventurers, far recovered from the reactionary biological disgust of their witnessed anguish, dart their reddened eyes backwards. Their originally humble expressions turn into wide, shocked, and confused beams. In a reckless jump, Dewey bolts to the installed fence which separated both halves of the ship, his watered feathers reeling in excitement, a smile forming over his beak. A similarly unexpected chuckle starts to crudely escape his older brother as he joins the younger in a nervous and sceptical laugh. A long and held exhale leaves Violet, a more thankful and relieved pant. Hunching over exhausted, she adds with a nervous smile, “Oh thank god.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby, who kneed closest to the ground looking up in confused wonder, proved naive to the sudden shift in mood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“LOUIE!” Dewey blurts out in ecstatic cheer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby begins to lift from the ground just as her blue wearing friend leaps haphazardly over the guardrail towards the bolted ground below. Now hearing the low and painful growling from underneath interspersed with forced and grainy chuckles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I KNEW HE HAD A PLAN!” Huey swiftly darts to the ladder, headed to the impromptu celebration below. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webbigail continues her approach, blinding sunlight obstructing her view up to when she takes hold of the gold colored handrail, her eyes still painted with worry and sorrow. As she does so, the sabrewing gasping next to her begins to lower the stairs in jittery hurry. The girl dressed in dried peaches and pinks stares over, her neck following until landing square in the middle of the currently empty cargo bay. Her pupils narrow, the overexposed whites of the refracting light now failing to hide the figure which resparked joy in the bleak circumstance. Her expression seemingly stays, her eyes no longer sprayed with grief, however, instead a disbelief and worry. She looks over, welcomed to the sight of a kid she had known for most of her life, now grown up and dressed in a green vest stained red. He laid sandwiched between his triplets who hugged the lively body relentlessly, his teeth sizzling in pain as maroon blood poured strikingly through him. Tears formed in his eyes as the love-filled squeeze enhances the already unbearable pain further, though a smile failed to dissipate over his lips. A shaky smile, a smile of uncertainty and cautious joy, a smile which mirrored Webby’s perfectly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Emulating the rash Dewey, Webby leaps over the rail, her innate acrobatics allowing a soft, if not reckless, landing. Her smile doesn’t fade while, almost immediately, bolting into a sprint upon reaching the ground. At this point Louie’s embrace parted as the brothers allowed a still recovering Violet to get a look at the wounds which permeated in deep reds. A foolish attempt as before the purple feathered friend could lean to inspect, the overjoyed Webbigail crashes harshly over the slowly lifting body. Knocking the coping triplet to the ground, her head anchored strongly on the non-injured shoulder, arms wrapped and squeezed around his neck and back. Slow and ached, Louie begins to stand back into a sitting position, still smiling guardedly as his long-time friend latches mercilessly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In between shy chuckles and jubilant tears, she speaks, “God dammit Louie! Please don’t do that again.” The voice sounded almost defeated, shaky and mournful, though a relieved happiness still laced it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could respond, a second pair of arms force around the welcomed duck, his eldest brother adding to the request as his head laid comfortably over the injured brother’s. "Seriously, don't.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet another duo of feathered forearms interrupt Louie’s drawn out thought, his more absent minded brother continuing the given speech following his rather tight embrace. “I’ll never forgive you if you do!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Continuing the train of affection, gentle arms lightly add to the pile of bodies which threatened Louie’s balance, a mild mannered Violet emmurating a monotone: “It’d be an inconvenience if you did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A final chest falls limply over the group, a wavered, slurred, and innocent voice commenting, “Yaaaaaaay, group hug!” as Lena surrounds the group in her long and heavy arms, resting weakly over the back of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A warming sense washes over the piercing crevices etched into the muffled duck’s body, the painted tears turning to that of melancholic nostalgia and reluctant joy. Louie’s face contorts as he tries to restrain the flow, his thoughts compromised in the process. Even with the effort, a slew of salted waterworks travel through his face, a smile unescapable. His words remain closed off to his chest, allowing a couple of seconds of the situation to shower over before answering in a shaky and giggled whisper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… promise.” The low voice wavers, his smile widening, his subdued cry breaking as he lets himself fall onto the warm embrace of the family he had abandoned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moment prolongs, though it felt rather short, before a second phrase breaks through the injured duck’s lips, “This … really hurts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group disperses suddenly, an almost worried and guilty scurry that shaked the faulty metal flooring below upon the request. Following the dispersal comes a crowd of apologies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, my bad!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This shirt’s ruined.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> <span>As they look over they are welcomed to the sight of a slacked Webbigail still pressing harshly on Louie, his smile turned to shocked inquisity as he looks to the protective friend. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not letting go! I don’t trust you!” Webby yelps, a stuttering cry echoing through the moving ship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie returns to his standard sly smile, “C’mon Webby, when have I ever lied to you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby squeezes tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s fair.” Louie parts his gaze over to the dark spot of his green vest, a brown stain stretching from the side of his torso up to the middle of his abdomen and back. He looks back at the stubborn Webby, saying: “Could you atleast let Huey or Violet check my wounds?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A second of contemplation flashes through before she separates from her friend and bolts to her feet. “Only cause you’d die otherwise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How sweet.” Louie answers with a cheeky smile and obnoxious sarcasm as Huey rushes to his knees, extracting an odd assortment of leaves and liquids. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Violet soon joins, skimming through her various books, cross-referencing the wounds with those drawn painfully on the patient. The party circles them in cautious wonder, except for Lena who wandered cluelessly through the ship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Upon closer inspection, even those not particularly proficient in the field could notice the oddity of the wounds. They’ve seen bullet wounds, an unfortunate part of their job is the accidental angering of people with firearms, that said, as Louie allowed his older brother to inspect his bare skin, you could notice how all bullet wounds pierced very little of the body, instead traveling less than and inches into his chest and a couple more inches through his back, completely avoiding muscle or organs. Something similar occured with the large bludgeoned indent across his abdomen. It glowed purple as if it was heavily bruised, yet the way the victim moved and talked made it clear it didn’t get the chance to crush anything vital despite its apparent size. Additionally, none could remember any large piece of debris falling near them during the pyramid’s collapse, definitely not in Louie’s vicinity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Louie, a bit of an odd question but, how did you get all the way up here?” Huey asks without removing his hands from the wound he had begun rubbing an odd-looking oil over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His body’s aching slowly falls limp and numb, the odd liquids seeping and travelling through the blood, slowly liberating him of the piercing pain stabbing through his tensed muscles. Calming and seemingly stable, he lets out a drawn out breath as he reaccustomes himself to his painless skin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dewey adds to the question, “Yeah man, those SWAT team looking guys tore through you like a piñata! ...A very… brother shaped piñata...” The pilot’s train of thought turns to a traumatic retelling as his mind catches up to his words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie continues his personal gasps for air, looking around the audience as he did so. The scan ending with a contemplating stare to his feet, his mind wandering and his eyes unfocuses as he chuckles nervously to himself. He bolts his face back up, it masked in his best plea of innocence. “Well, you see, that’s definitely something I’m happy to explain to you guys, but you need to understand that this is a conversation we need to have as a loving, understanding, patient family who is not quick to judge one-another and-.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t try to Louie your way out of this, Louie..” Violet coldly intersects.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The comment immediately flusters the judged duck, his smile falling before yelling out, “I just said to not judge each other!” The scream is quickly followed by crude hunching and a low groan as his wounds stretches and tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t move! You’re gonna make the pain worse.” Huey scolds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My bad, my bad.” Louie slows his movements to a crawl as he reestablishes his previously uneventful position. He sighs defeated before continuing to direct himself to the group. “It’s a mess, and I’m happy to explain, just…” He looks around at the always shifting and rusted interior of the Sunchaser. “... not here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this point Huey had moved on to his rather long and coiled roll of bandaging, wrapping it rather furiously across the array of bullet wounds and bruises that have been recently adhered to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby, who glares rather suspiciously at Louie, not speaking a word as the interaction continued, lightens before asking, “Then to the mansion it is, I bet Della and Scrooge and Donald and-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Louie catches himself screaming, the crowd pasting their eyes towards him. Realizing his knee jerk mistake, the duck’s characteristically fast mouth begins to damage control “I mean… we can’t go to the mansion…. because….” He continues to fumble through his head, everyone patiently waiting for a continuation to the aggressive retort before an excuse finally hits him, “... because S.H.U.S.H. would totally be waiting for us there. Yeah, I bet they already have a bunch of helicopters circling the premises!" He chuckles and smiles expectantly. Looking through the crowd of seemingly unconvinced faces for validation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The circle of adventurers face each other for a second.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose that makes sense.” Violet seizes, “Where should we take you then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm, I could always crash with Dewey.” Louie lamely points to his energetic sibling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I would love to have you, but my landlord said I can’t have any guests over after... the incident” Dewey suddenly returns to his catatonic standing state, his eyes dilating and wandering slightly off-kilter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm, don’t think I want to know about that.” The bandaged rogue quickly dismisses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really don’t.” Huey confirms, putting away the last of his medical supplies as he did, allowing his brother to carefully put his demolished vest back over his almost mummified body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As this conversation echoes through the uncomfortably thin walls of the sturdy plane, a sudden crash followed by the sound of a rather large object hitting the ground reaches them, soonly followed by a still loopy Lena yelling out, “I’m okay!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still staring at the general direction of the body-less voice, Webby suggests, “I need to get Lena home anyways, I guess I could hide you there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie slowly lets his body fall back, his rusted back slamming gently on the cold metal. He stares to the sky. “Great! Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna pass out for a couple hours.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no-!” Webby screams out to him though her plea is interrupted by the man’s sudden snoring. “Ugh, guess we’ll talk about this tomorrow. Dewey, set course to my apartment!” The pink wearing duck stretches outward, pointing vigorously ahead, a sense of confidence and excitement shooting through the pose. The emotive declaration falls on deaf ears, however, as the ship's pilot stands motionless, staring starry eyed at the farthest most wall. “Uhm, Dewey… Dewey!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh? What happened?” Dewey snaps back to reality, staring across bewildered before falling onto the one who summoned him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Set course for my apartment!” The exhausted captain reinvigorates her request.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ai ai Captain!” The juvenile friend straightens a salute before scurrying up to the cockpit which had been left vacant for the better part of half an hour at this point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As his figure distances, the stance falls limp as Webby tires. “I think I should get some sleep too. Can you guys make sure Dewey doesn’t crash the plane?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why not.” Huey assures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, wake me up when we get to Duckburg” Webby begins to slowly drag her feet to one of the many cushioned seats that balcony the cargo bay. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once distant, the two remaining lucid travelers stand in shared silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well good luck with that Hubert.” Violet turns her back to the messied, exhausted friend, her equally exhausted body walking farther and farther away with each word, “I’m headed to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I’m just as tired, you can’t just leave me alone, the Junior Woodchuck Guidebook rule number 1-” Huey’s ravenous whine is interrupted by the distancing Violet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The Junior Woodchuck Guidebook also says to sleep when tired, and I’m rather tired.” Her body turns to face the peer, very roughly defined bags tracing beneath her barely open eyes. “I’m sure Dewford will be fine, I was told he was a professional.” The drained hummingbird returns to her departure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huey hums frustratingly to himself as the figure marches more and more removed, the contained anger dissipating to a self-contained sigh before he ceases. “She’s probably right.” A yawn and a stretch force themselves onto him. “I should probably get some rest too. Tomorrow's talk will for sure drain me.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>HOPE YOU LIKED IT!</p><p>I was kinda nervous posting this part of the story due to its relative angst when compared to what came before and what is to come but it was always intended to be part of the story and it felt wrong scrapping it so I at least hope you enjoyed it.</p><p>Next week will be a bit of an unusual installment, instead of a usual episode I will be posting a shorter interlude so stay tuned next Friday for a small Intermission starring a much more lucid Lena Sabrewing.</p><p>Hope you all have a great day and I'll see y'all next Friday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Intermission: Humble Request</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lena never really grew to love sleep, like falling unconscious for eight hours at a time always brought with it caveats, like magic induced nightmares. Unfortunately adventuring with friends also brought caveats, like getting tired and needing to sleep. Hopefully those two facts won't intervene.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lena’s eyes strike open. Recognizable light blues and whites warm as she hovers over the endless sky of her own subconscious. Clouds float through, the abstract construction of the pale shadows dissipating upon contact, a comfort following. The punk fashioned duck pays little attention to the odd spectacle, instead pushing her leg in front of the other. No floor catches her, yet she doesn’t descent, slowly moving ahead hypnotically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As her body pierces gently the stale air of the limitless sky, she speaks, “You called me?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Silence accompanies the lowly breeze, a response not heard but soon felt as, a couple seconds after the question is asked, the clouds part with an aggressive shot of cold air. The wind bludgeons the visiting spellcaster, her hair dragging against her scalp, eyes forced to narrow obnoxiously. Vision soon returns to her, then looking forward to a bitter, rusted, wall of vertical metal bars. Lena begins to stutter in her steps, a nauseating knot based at the core of the abdomen. Eyebrows furrow as her pupils stare directly at the juxtaposing shadow stationed behind the overwhelmingly expansive cage, meeting with a golden pupil inside.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually she reaches the comically large collection of decrepit tubes. Her hand wraps harshly around the vestige, arm tensed, anchoring her swaying body to the wall between her and the void.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want?” A serpent's bite echoes from the disdained Lena.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How long have I been trapped here?” A growled voice answers</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want a present for the anniversary?” Lena snarls in bitter sarcasm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A long year it has been…” From the shadows of the prison a striking pair of yellow eyes stare through, the voice they’re attached to continuing, “...My dear nephew, using me like a disposable tool.” The weary Magica De Spell whines weakly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t answer my first question, I have stuff to do, better people to dream about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A manic chuckle peers through the bars, “As repugnant as always.” Silence falls the conversation for a pain-stacking couple of seconds, “Have you felt it… the artifact the boy brought with?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Another arrogant chuckle shoots forth, “I wouldn’t have expected you to, but I felt it, oh how palatable it seemed, so powerful… it isn’t the only one, oh how many there are, and I need them, I want them.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tough luck; is this all you wanted to tell me?” Lena’s interest begins to wager, her annoyed eyes rolling with every other word thrown in her direction.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You tried to use my power today, didn’t you?” the striking comment catches Lena’s attention once more. “You know it only makes it easier for me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A second of recollection passes before the accused face drops to a lighter tone, “You’re growing senile; I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about. I recommend you start getting used to your new home instead of playing your pathetic </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind games</span>
  </em>
  <span> cause I won’t be making ANYTHING ‘easier’ for you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh how confident you are, sweetie, but maybe…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The light breeze which sounded through the ears of its proximity halts to complete silence, the air turned to a freezing stand still, cold vitriol latching itself onto Lena’s body. The welcoming blues of the expansive surrounding begin to bleed inked shadows, black painted cynically over the juvenile landscape. The clouds that hovered gently around whoever walked through turn scarlet red, sharp and threatening. Instinctually, Lena attempts to remove herself from the bars she clutched to, but as her fingers parted, her arm recoiling to the core, a pair of green feathered palms grasp onto it. Scratching and twisting the skin, they call for her eyes. Lena stares back to the inside of the cage, a void which traveled across the tarnished blues of before, where the wicked and sickly eyes of Magica De Spell proves accompanied by a toothy grin. The nails of the locked figure stabs and tears the skin, a group of maroon streaks chiseling into her forearm as it tries to escape.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...maybe it’s already ‘easy’ enough.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lena suddenly wakes in a pool of her cold sweat, breathing heavy in the ache of her lucid nightmare. She scans the room frantically, worried, calming as the environment washes over her. Just her bedroom, rather basic and small but welcomed nonetheless. She wore her usual blue polo but not the loose sweater she fashioned over it. Her eyes wander to her arm, burning still, to the view of unsightly peels of skin and bulging scratches. The gaze breaks as she looks for what to hide the worrisome wounds with, noticing the neatly folded sweater she reminisced a couple seconds ago. Webby, despite the light yellows of the sun signaling early morning, was not in bed, though the mystery of the folded cloth probably didn’t need much interrogation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh of relief finally allows itself to emerge from the exasperated Sabrewing followed swiftly by a personal whisper as she falls back into her cushioned pillow, “... fuck me…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Episode 6: Morning Conversations - Chapter 3: Some Catching Up To Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One would be surprised at how easily the simplest of conversations can spin out of hand. Just one unexpected variable and the tables turn wildly. Hopefully that won't happen when Lena finds an unexpected guest occupying her living room sofa.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everybody! We're back to our regularly scheduled episodes! Along with the Chapter 3 premiere. So I don't think I've ever mentioned, but all these episodes (and intermissions) were written before I even started releasing them publicly. In reality, I didn't even plan on ever releasing this story when I first started writing it. That said, this would be the last episode I had pre-written, and while next week's episode is mostly written, the following chapters will be written more or less week by week. This is my first ever solo-written fic that I've posted and the reception is WAY better than I could've ever expected. Even the idea that one person would want to read my passion project is INSANE to me, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for giving my story a chance. Because of this I do plan to still release new episodes every Friday, though please forgive any delays as I tend to overwhelm myself with differing projects.</p><p> I hope you all are staying safe during these trying times and, as always, enjoy Episode 6 of A Well Oiled Machine!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lena walks rather relaxed from her bed to the kitchen of her cozy apartment. The residual discomfort of the unsettling dream but an annoying afterthought as she instinctually continues her morning routine. There wasn’t much distinguishing the kitchen and the living room considering that the oven and the couch are but a counter away from each other. Modest and welcoming, if not a bit extravagant with all the pinks Webby was so adamant on adding. As Lena enters the living room, tunneling towards the small walk-in kitchen stationed behind it, a peculiar figure catches her attention. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She continues the march, not missing a beat as she welcomes, “Sup’ Rebel.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sup Lena” A very comfortable Louie answers nonchalantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Lena, still half asleep from yesterday’s restless evening, ignores the surprise guest, her head failing to catch up to the scenario as quickly as her mouth. Instead, her body stations itself by the fridge near the opposite side of the marble counter. As she forces the fridge door open, the dimmed yellows of the cooler's light illuminating onto her exhausted expression, the realization of the short yet ignored interaction dawns. Still hunched over the welcoming, although always disappointing, fridge interior, Lena’s eyes widen, staring back towards the leather couch where a recognizable friend sat. From the little of his sitting body that can be seen, one could distinguish the currently lounging Louie Duck wrapped comfortably by a jade weighted blanket, immersing his laxed figure in the blaring sound of the T.V.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” Lena begins, slowly approaching the room, hoping to get a better look at the vegetating body, “Louie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The estranged friend grunts acknowledgingly, his mouth seemingly occupied. Quickly he gasps for air as a cool sizzle escapes his lips. From the mountain of cloth escapes a heavily bandaged arm, a can of cola clenched between the pearly white fingers that soon lowered to place the carbonated drink along the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Louie finally answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The overwhelmed, freshly awake duck stares away in a heavy sigh, instinctually yelling out, “Pink! What’s your brother doing on our couch!?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s stayed the night!” An abstract voice yells from deeper inside the hollow walls of the apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, that makes sense…” Lena starts to mumble to herself sarcastically, remembering the last time she had seen the traditionally lazy duck. Her mind first wanders to about half a year back, maybe more; an angered, low growling escaping her as she does, though it is quickly subsided by a nagging memory she failed to recall. A much more recent one that aches her head as it tries to manifest itself. The struggling Sabrewing travels back to the kitchen, attempting to work her mental gymnastics, beginning to prepare her breakfast all the while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You seemed pretty out of it yesterday.” Louie casually begins. “Webbs was pretty worried.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sudden conversation startles the morning routine, the cereal she had begun to prepare spilling with Lena’s sudden bounce. Her eyes dart across the expanding puddle, the concern stolen from her. The words took a second to reflect onto her busy thoughts yet when they did the answer came up blank. She had no idea what he was talking about. She answers, her head toying with the idea of this being another abstract dream:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?” Lena continues to pour over her meal, attempting to steal attention from the odd scenario.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” He nodded, his mouth filled once more with the now stale drink, “Got a concussion or something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh…” Breakfast falls secondary to the woman's contemplation. It would explain the gap in yesterday’s events. She looks back at Louie, still attentive to the filler played on the screen, “Is that so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena places the gallon of milk beside the served wheats that floated delicately on her bowl, taking hold of it as she makes her way to the accompanied couch. Her mind continues to race. What a terrible day to forget, like waking up with a ghost roommate. Wait…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey Green… uhm, you’re not dead… are you?” The words leap from the sheepish Lena, them consecutively making the question seem kinda dumb in the asker’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silent cringing runs parallel to Louie’s widening gaze. Although he didn’t look away from the perpendicular wall, he still stared worriedly ahead. He harshly slams his drink to the top of his lip, the now revealed “Pep” logo faced outward in a nervous grasp. Just as quickly he slams it back towards the ground, the trauma and insecurity of the question’s implication illustrated patiently in his stuttered response, “N-no, of course not.” He chuckles lamely, a combination of clear disbelief at the question and honest fear echoing through the giggle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Riiiight…” She worryingly corroborates, the answer only furthering the confusion the puzzling gaps in her memory created.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Lena rolls her head awkwardly across the room, catching a short glimpse of the brainless show airing on the television. The program itself is somewhat familiar to her, nostalgic even, like a song you can’t quite remember… fitting. Lena’s eyes make their way to the opposite side of the brown furnisher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The seat did its job, cushioned and accessible enough to slowly eat soggy cereal in, but Lena couldn’t even accomplish that much, driving her spoon through the milk as her mind wandered, her head burning with every attempt at recollection. Louie was a bit more on edge than usual but definitely doing a better job at relaxing than her, every stray glance Lena shot being welcomed with the same dopey smile and half-closed eyelids.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Through a minute of watching the televised equivalent of paint drying, the punk fashioned duck finally tilts her body over to her former peer. “Okay, quick question, if one were to, y’know, not remember anything that happened yesterday, how would you describe its events in the fewest words possible?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know…” He takes another sip of his carbonated soda, seemingly thinking nothing of the impromptu question, “I was only there for half of it. Maybe ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit goes down</span>
  </em>
  <span>’”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, definitely, it was wild.” Lena begins to straighten her body back towards the TV, dissatisfied with the answer given. She continues to allow the reminiscent show’s blaring sound effects to consume her attention, though it’s not long when she grows bored of it, allowing her gaze to drift. After a second she lands by the feet of her guest where a collection of about 13 empty light blue cans of soda stood. “Uhm… where did you get all this Pep, we don’t really buy that stuff.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I brought them from home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena looks over at the half-attentive Louie, her eyebrow raising curiously, “You brought thirteen cans of soda from your house?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” The interrogated, heavily blanketed ex-adventurer looks down by his feet, staring thoughtfully at his accumulated assortment. “I might’ve gotten carried away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quickly he turns his gaze from the ground to his sides. Searching paranoidly over his shoulders, his legs, behind the couch, inside Lena’s cereal, all the while allowing his blanket to unravel, revealing the short sleeved, light pink button up shirt, as well as an odd copper trinket he held in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that Pink’s shirt?” Lena’s curious eyebrow continues to rise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still searching the room, now taking the effort to even shift slightly from his seat, Louie answers, “Yeah, my vest got ruined with all the blood.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED YESTERDAY?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence falls, the blunt answer leaving the already perplexed Lena awestruck. After his bizarre search of the mundane premises concludes and he falls back into his seat winded and on edge, Louie looks to his side and asks in a whisper, “You know a lot about magic right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” Lena averts to her sides dismissively, awkwardly making eye contact as she prepares her half-hearted answer, “...kinda?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perfect,” The secretive duck lifts his left arm up to her face, tilting his torso closer to the confused peer as to better demonstrate to her the odd copper contraption he carried. “Then you can help me with this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instinctually she reels back, her neck retracting and her eyes centering as to stare the object down. It was an oddly designed piece, a thick bronze wire tensely orbiting a greenish crystal orb, the copper perimeter about an inch away from the center, bent in artistic fashion. The core was just as interesting, the glass ball  for the most part dirty greens except for a golden smoke that bounced inside it, spinning hypnotically, catching the eye of whoever stared through it. It was mesmerizing, for sure, but something else caught Lena’s attention. Something that the object emitted enraptured her. She remembers the dream, the nightmare, the conversation, the “boy” with a magical object, she needed to have it. NO! Stay calm, keep her at arms length, she isn’t you, she doesn’t control you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena raises her free hand, placing it gently over her friend’s forearm, pushing it closer to his chest. “And what is </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, exactly?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie places his free hand by his beak in a cupped manner, investigating the humble room once more before whispering, “It’s one of the Tools of Creation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena bolts to her feet, the bowl of uneaten and saturated cereal she pointlessly carried falling and spilling onto her carpeted floor. She stared down the object briefly before tilting her glare to a naively surprised Louie. Her pupil shrunk and shook as she slowly stepped back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You guys found one?” She almost yells in her scared response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I found it, actually, the others don’t know I have it.” Louie answers, looking down in slight embarrassment and guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you showing it to me, then?!” The shaking fear she attempted to hide before roars unapologetically.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you could help me make sense of it, y’know, you’re magicky and stuff!” Louie bites the aggressive bait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you ask like Violet?! I shouldn’t be near those things!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! I feel like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>get </span>
  </em>
  <span>me, I thought you’d be a bigger help…” Louie solemnly returns to his more subdued mannerism, breaking the frightened eye contact as he sadly tilts his head down, “I’m way over my head, Lena…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any response she had in mind dissipates at the uncharacteristically earnest display her old friend displayed, a culpability falling over her as the distraught drawn on his face turns to hopelessness. Lena stays silent as she allows herself to calm, the time also used to realize what item her aunt spoke of earlier. “You can’t let Pink know you have that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I gathered as much. Why does she even want these?” He asks, directing the item in an almost dismissive manner.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Memories begin to flash across the still disturbed Lena. Webby wanted to keep the search for these items a mystery from the group, Lena did try to warn her it was a lost cause but Pink was as stubborn as she was ambitious; suppose not all secrets can be kept for long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure,” Lena begins, “but she’s been obsessing over them for months now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I can’t keep it hidden forever, how am I gonna explain everything I did yesterday?” Louie loudly whines. “Like, you guys saw me survive a firing squad!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You survived a firing squadron?” Lena’s previous shock is replaced by earnest curiosity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Louie yelps in a burst of energy, “It was the worst moment of my life! Didn’t you see me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be completely honest with you, I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.” Lena adds in a bitter monotone. “Can’t say I’m not a little curious how you pulled that one off.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not super sure I did…” Louie’s eyes widen as his vision unfocuses, the gaze of his eyes aimlessly shooting forward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Green?” Lena approaches her head to the suddenly catatonic Louie, the question snapping him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, just… thinking…” He almost delves back into his consciousness before shaking his head awake. “I just…. people are trying to kill me for this thing and I just kinda wanted to vent about it… ”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena’s immediate thought falls on the dramatic irony of his first complaint, a bitter irony as her prisoner’s greed yearns for the item. It’s a TOOL OF CREATION, who could blame someone for wanting to get their hands on it. STOP!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, are you planning on telling the others?” Lena asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> As the words leave the duck’s mouth, before Louie has the chance to answer,  a distanced conversation crawls to proximity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU CRASHED THE PLANE! We left you alone for 10 MINUTES!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my defense, I didn’t have the best examples growing up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Could you two stop the bickering, we’ve arrived?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sharp echo of an alerting shime climaxes the argument. An excited voice yells between the rather thin walls “Webby! Lena! We’re here!” Dewey screams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coming!” The echoing and distant conformation of an occupied Webbigail attests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Has Louie arrived?” Violet begins, “I’ve got some questions for him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two exasperated friends look at each other then the wooden carved door before Louie reluctantly answers, “I don’t think I have a choice.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Episode 7: Not so Concise Explanations - Chapter 3: Some Catching Up to Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Finally the group gets some time to relax, talk amongst each other, enjoy their own company, and make some shocking discovery about their closest friends..... They've been through worse together, I'm sure they'll be fine, or at the very least pretend that's the case.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! So this week has been a bit hectic for me so I'm glad that I was able to release this episode on time, although unfortunately it's a bit shorter than originally planned, so expect a similar style of episode next week to accommodate. That said, I do have quite a bit to share in the following weeks, particularly my attempt to write a short(ish) fic for every day of Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby Sibling week. While the key word is "attempt", I'm confident enough to tell you all to expect at least one new fic this Sunday.</p><p>(https://hdlwsiblingweek2020.tumblr.com/) &lt;&lt;&lt; Their tumblr if you wish to see the prompts and ask questions. </p><p>Eitherway, I do hope you enjoy this episode and that you have a great day!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Welcome-” A gitty Webby lands roughly over her cushioned chair, her back bouncing before the tall backrest of the red adorned furniture, “TO THE WAR ROOM!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The enthusiastic leader looks ahead to the opposing adjacent sides of the beautifully carved, circular, oak wood table she sat by, her team studying the foreign scenery in astonishment. The room, air conditioned, benefitted from the privacy of ink walls and no windows. Maps spread across the enclosed space, its size comparable to a classroom. Behind Webby, her body proudly demonstrating the poorly lit room, is a collection of dimmed computer screens, a collage of graphs, charts, diafrimes, and even more maps helping illuminate whatever was left invisible by the single light bulb that hung unconfidently over the table.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The crew, sitting clockwise from Vanderquack in the following order: Huey, Dewey, Louie, Lena, and Violet, allowed themselves to carefully scan the obscured details of the room.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you built this whole room this morning?” Lena, still bouncing her sight from set piece to set piece, asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yerp!” The excitable roommate proudly responds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where did you even get the money for a whole underground war room?” Huey inquires.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Louie’s credit card.” A mischievous smile creaks onto the duck’s face as she answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“WHAT?!” Louie quickly turns his face towards Webby before looking over his body as he begins to pat it down, coming to realize the horror of his missing wallet, “WHY!?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well someone needed to pay for it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok, but why me?!” Louie’s cracking voice rabidly protests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Violet intercepts, “I think the real important question is why you decided to make this room in the first place”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie averts his sorrowed stare towards the calming presence of the Sabrewing sister, a look of utter disbelief washing over him, “I beg to differ!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I just thought that since we were fighting secret spy agencies with fancy computers and stuff, </span>
  <em>
    <span>WE </span>
  </em>
  <span>needed fancy computers and stuff!” The still overjoyed Webbigail justifies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does our landlord know about this?” Lena forces a remorseful and calm attitude as the project’s repercussions dawn over her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have one of those?” An honest innocence peers through her words, her eyes gazing curiously at the bedmate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right, thought so…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well I think this is AWESOME!” The mostly silent Dewey finally breaks into a scream, “We’re like real spies!” The duck throws himself over the table, allowing the sheen of jittery joy to reflect upon Webby’s equally excitable mannerisms. His stare almost proving jarring as his face shot but inches from his friend’s, her neck pulling back in the process. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby stares for a second before returning the bright smile with her own, the adorable display turning into a laugh between the duo. The room’s designer responds, “Yeah! If those S.H.U.S.H. whatevers want to get through us, they're gonna need more than just guns and helicopters!”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The previous blinding smirk plasters itself on the triumphant and self-assured leader, matching perfectly with her brother in arms’s expression. To say the display wasn’t contagious would be an utter lie, Violet and Huey fighting a snicker in the audience. The remaining crowd of Lena and Louie reserving their laughter a little longer. The latter still reeling from the shock of the previously confessed theft, but the former inquired a bit deeper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena’s eyes travel through the expanding lungs of her giggling friends, slowly burrowing until finding that of Webby. Laughing, the arrogance-filled leader shifts her eyes to the remorseful peer of her life partner, Lena tilting her head in a worried and inquisitive beam. She saw through her, the lengths she had gone through, she theorized why, the real reason, and both of them knew it, Webby could read as much in the look, an understanding that had laced their relationship since that fateful day on that solemn beach. Her laugh begins to fade, her eyebrows tilting upwards slowly, her arrogant stance slouching softly….</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “HAHAHAH! Well if we want to get the upper hand on those S.H.U.S.H. washouts then we need to talk strategy!” Lena celebrates in an oozing vibrance, a sloppy imitation of the mannerisms passing for the real deal. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby turns her head shocked, amazement drawn on her agape expression. Lena’s large smile shrinks to a more sincere smirk before returning to the hopeful act, turning her eyes to the rest of the table. Vanderquack lowers her head in a whirring embarrassment, a dopey grin unable to escape her reddened face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should probably lay out all we know about S.H.U.S.H. first.” Huey adds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“YEAH!” Dewey, still high from the pompous display from seconds prior, slowly makes his way back to his furnished seat, staying silent in thought before blurting out, “Uhm… What DO we know about S.H.U.S.H.?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room goes quiet as they collectively recollect any past knowledge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know Granny was part of it…” Webby audibly mumbles, the quiet returning in an awkward stand still. Tensed air as the rest of the group ignores the whisper and extends their brainstorm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They were chasing you yesterday,” Violet finally cuts the suffocating tension, “care to explain, Llewellyn?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rounded table promptly turns their heads to the currently oblivious Louie. The man resting his head over his bent arm, slouching his body over it in wide-eyed horror. As the room’s attention tunneled on the spaced-out duck, his whispers began to echo silently across its walls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There was so much money on that card, what am I gonna do, maybe Scrooge would lend me some….. No that’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhmm…” Dewey, who sat beside his delusioned brother, conspicuously elbows his shoulder. “Dude…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh? What?” Louie straightens his body as his head searches for the sudden disturbance, catching the various stares the attentive council threw. “What’s happening?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webbigail sighs deeply before beginning, “We all saw what happened yesterday.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lena abruptly raises her hand, “I actually don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie joins, raising his hand right after, “I also don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.” The cowardice duck is quickly introduced to an aggressive strike from the neighboring spellcaster, clenching his shoulder and lowering his arm quickly after. He starts to caress his aching arm, “Nevermind!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well point is,” Webby continues, “we’re… somewhat curious.” The woman glares directly into Louie, a serious look that differed immensely from the lively chuckle she shared before, intimidating and straightforward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Feeling himself uncomfortable with the impersonal interrogator, Louie averts to the rest of the menagerie only to be welcomed with the same eyes, the eyes of people who wanted answers and knew who they wanted to get them from. The eyes of people who were not welcome to the idea of allowing the interrogated any wiggle room, no small talk, no reminiscing. The overwhelmed bird takes a deep breath, allowing his body to calm as it sinks into the backrest before asking, “You wanna know about S.H.U.S.H.?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The inhale from before escapes the clearly nervous duck in a long and dreadful sigh, “Well…” he stalls, “I’ve been kinda… busy the last couple months.” He waits for any type of response, seconds passing before realizing that not even the most juvenile of members had any plans on speaking. “About six months ago I got a… letter, from S.H.U.S.H., they wanted me to join their organization.” Short and audible gasps finally bring a second noise to the drab war room before silencing itself, an innocent amazement painted on the stretched out eyes of Dewey Duck as he stuffed his beak with his feathered hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you accepted?” Violet asks, unaffected by the reveal, or if she was, hiding it behind a stone cold exterior.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie looks to his feet, a hint of shame hidden in his aimless gaze. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby visibly flinches at the answer, recollecting herself just as quickly, the sudden spasm not going unnoticed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huey looks over to the leader, beginning a question, “Webby, didn’t Goldie mention something about you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what did you do next?” The question’s target rashly cuts the sentence short.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uhm…” The younger of the Duck siblings looks to his eldest twin to assess the reaction, seeing him awkwardly eye Webby before turning his gaze back to him, “Well, I started to work under them, nothing particularly interesting. They would call me ‘Crown.’ They mostly used me for espionage work like forging voice clips, negotiations, diplomacy, the sorts. It was boring for the most part, really, just trying to avoid using any of the real spies, save on costs. I wasn’t anyone super important.” A shy smile escapes the duck mid speech, a sad sort of grin you’d see accompanied with reluctance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what about Goldie?” The purple hummingbird tosses another question, “Why is she working for S.H.U.S.H.?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie looks, scratching once more for any expression other than distant professionalism, to no avail. The question bounces in his head for a second, bitterness coming from the mention of his self proclaimed aunt. “She…” he thinks hard of what to say, “She ranked above me by quite a bit. The agency has been experiencing fast and sudden shifts into militarization, she apparently asked to lead that division, hence the guns and helicopters. A rather big red flag if you ask me.” Louie chuckles, “She’s definitely planning on betraying them eventually, I just don’t know what she plans to get from it yet.” He begins to liven as his head continues to race for context, “I’m sure we could convince her to help us if-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“NO!” Dewey bursts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room silences, the table shifting their attention solemnly on the sudden outburst of rage. The triplet furrows his brow harshly as he stares ahead at Louie, a boiling anger twisting his clenched fist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She tried to kill you! We’re not gonna work with her, are you crazy?!” Dewey continues in an emphatic retort, looking around the room for validation. The group answering with subdued and reserved nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie doesn’t answer, however, the fact of the matter only now pummeling towards him. Who knows if it was just a slip of the mind but it hadn’t quite dawned on him what aunt Goldie had attempted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re not working with Goldie.” Webby’s stern and serious alter ego declares, “She’s too much of a liability, especially when we don’t even know why they’re looking for Louie.” Her trapping tone directs itself back to the ex-S.H.U.S.H. agent. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His tongue is caught, words running from him in the moment of surprise. His eyes match Webby’s, allowing himself to relax before starting, “Ok… the last mission I was assigned at S.H.U.S.H. was my biggest one yet. I was to conduct an undercover trade at a rather high class party with a particularly zealous collector. Straightforward cunning, convince them to hand over whatever object S.H.U.S.H. wanted in exchange for some kind of favor or maybe even cash.” Silence passes as he continues to think of what to say next, “Needless to say the deal went well. HQ told me to return the transferred object back to base immediately… that was three weeks ago.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Huey erupts, “Why didn’t you return it?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie giggles to himself, “They made the mistake of telling me what the object was beforehand. S.H.U.S.H. aren’t the good guys anymore,” The statement perks Webby’s feathers before they fall back into place, “...someone’s using them, pulling the organization’s strings from the shadows, and I’m sure they’re planning… SOMETHING with this object, I just know it.” Louie passionately speaks, “I mean, the militarization was one thing, but shady trade deals?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group finds themselves enraptured in the tale told, their stoic expressions lowering ever so slightly as they immerse themselves in the narrative explanation and begin to analyze the given question. Well most all…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her poker face still withstanding, Violet adds a question, “And what item would that be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie stares over, the energy of his previous confessions seeping over to his current actions. He bolts his head towards Lena, the somewhat lost Duck sternly nodding in his direction, knowing of the question's answer. He stands from the chair he slouched over, his body turning into a beacon, pulling attention to itself. Louie slowly lowers his arm to Violet’s wanted answer, hand vibrating as his nerves begin to sharpen. A moment of hesitation trails in the seconds of movement, ignored in the reactive action. “This.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The previously averse forearm slams harshly to the wooden tables middle, the copper amulet previously introduced to Lena bouncing lightly before settling. As the impact shimmers through the stone walls of the cool room, so does the spinning gold mist at its middle. Most of the table’s residence lean in closer as they inspect the odd bronze item, others a bit slower to the draw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of the-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tools of Creation.” Webby finishes.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Episode 8: Even Less Concise Explanations - Chapter 3: Some Catching Up to Do</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Every story has two sides, and after some pressuring from Huey, it seems Webby will have to reveal her's. Some plan making and some magical item probing, maybe the group might leave here a bit closer than they were before. Might.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey everyone! It's been a couple weeks, hasn't it? I took a little break after finishing up the HDLW Sibling Week fics (which you should check out if you haven't yet, I really like how they turned out) since I was starting to get a burnt out. That said, I was able to pull through for this week! Sorry for the wait, here is Episode 8!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The previously averse forearm slams harshly to the wooden tables middle, the copper amulet previously introduced to Lena bouncing lightly before settling. As the impact shimmers through the stone walls of the cool room, so does the spinning gold mist at its middle. Most of the table’s residence lean in closer as they inspect the odd bronze item, others a bit slower to the draw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of the-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tools of Creation.” Webby finishes, her back pressed tightly on her oversized throne of a swerving chair, face contorted wide and starstruck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie turns his eyes to the fixated ones of the shocked friend, his pupils narrowing, trying to inquire a clue as to her relation with the artifact and its cousins, only finding clear knowledge of its existence and disbelief at its presence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Huey, for one, approaches his body closer to the middle, his hand tightening on a cylindrical encasing he had brought with, hidden beneath the table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dewey has a less methodical reaction:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa! These are the artifacts you were talking about yesterday?!” An amused laugh permeates throughout the exclamation, “It looks so weeeiiiird…” The impulsive triplet begins to reach for the lively piece, the arc meeting dead air as from beneath his palm the tool is swiped. He looks to his side, perplexed by the item’s disappearance, refinding it in-between the clenched fingers of his younger brother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Louie’s eyes shake as they seeth into Dewey, a clear disturbance at his near contact with his possession. Realizing his reactionary state, the duck coughs to himself before readressing the boardroom. “Uhm, yeah, they’re pretty valuable so I thought I’d take it for myself and sell it later-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure you did!.” Huey takes lead, shaking his head in annoyed confusion, “Am I the only one who thinks this is ridiculous?” The man looks around to the peering eyes of equally perplexed audience members, “Like, after 7 months since our last mission together, Webby calls us to help on a project of hers which she neglects to explain to us, an expedition in which Louie magically shows-up in after ghosting us for half a year, might I add, and once Webby DOES explain that we were looking for a map to the locations of the most dangerous and powerful items in all ancient mythology,” The increasingly agitated duck slams the rusted glass cylinder from the day prior onto the oak furniture, “-items that can shape the UNIVERSE as we know it, we get ambushed by S.H.U.S.H., get captured by Goldie O’ Gilt, and interrogated on Louie’s whereabouts! And as if the situation couldn’t get ANY MORE bizarre, Louie TELEPORTS behind O’Gilt to save us and then teleports AGAIN to the Sunchaser after very clearly being shot DEAD! And now it’s revealed that Louie worked for S.H.U.S.H. and has a TOOL OF CREATION that he apparently wanted to sell? I’m glad to see you two kept busy in our hiatus but I’m getting tired of this wishy-washy way of explaining! We have one of the building blocks of reality, the least I can ask for is some transparency!” He finishes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not a yelp left the room, a slowly reeling Huey staring towards the group in erratic spasms, waiting for a response. Those less confrontational attempting to avoid any eye contact while others responded only in shock. The awkward wait persists, even Violet, although stone faced, speech-less. A minute or more of this agonizing silence allows Huey to calm, although his emanating frustration only muffles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Webby sighs, a sad exhale leading her neck downwards. She recollects an explanation before looking ahead at her friends. “I guess I shouldn’t ask so many questions without answering some myself. Six months ago I was asked to join S.H.U.S.H. I don’t know how but they had found out that I was Agent 22’s granddaughter and had me in mind for a special operation. I strongly refused, that’s as far as I went with S.H.U.S.H.” The woman looks back at a still sceptical Huey. She remains silent, quickly met with still inquisitive beams, waiting for her to address the real conundrum. A secondary breath allows itself to leave the reluctant Webby. “So after the S.H.U.S.H. offer I decided to go through granny’s old stuff and I found a couple of… half written letters? I’m almost sure they were meant for Scrooge but they never specified.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sinking feeling stabs across Louie, an aching and clinging voice asking him to remove this burden from himself, it would make things much easier. He remains silent as Webby continues. “But they all said the same, to not trust S.H.U.S.H. and that Scrooge needs to get the Tools of Creation before S.H.U.S.H. does and I-” She stops herself, a pittie smile forming over her before she violently shakes herself to reality, “The whole thing was stupid, I’m sorry I got you all roped into my vanity project, I just-” Her throat gives, tears begins to form as guilt lodged in her chest. “I just thought that- y’know- “</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A firm grip lands on the already shaking fist of the Vanderquack, her eyes bolting and meeting with an equally empathetic Huey. His previously bothered expression had turned into what could almost be described as an amused grin. “C’mon Webby, you know we would follow you to the end of the Earth, if you had just told us we would’ve roped ourselves in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Dewey’s infallible energy butts in, “We’re family! Family helps each other!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already decided to trust you indiscriminately for the rest of my life sooooo…” Lena shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I already roped myself up in a different reckless vanity project, what’s one more?” Louie convinces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Although it may seem hard to believe, you are all my only friends, at this point abandoning one of you would be a bad return on investment.” Violet attempts to consolidate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The light choking that disallowed Webby to continue prior now prevents a response. The tears from before dripping warm onto her cheek. Soon a grin carves itself and with an energized wipe she answers. “Thank you guys... I promise I won’t keep any more secrets, I just… thought I could keep you safer this way.” Each word accompanied by a forcefully hidden sob.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The apology resonates onto Louie, the emotional showcase pulling at his sorrowing conscience. He rests his eyes as his head contemplates. It’s best he keep it close to his chest, now’s not the time to tell.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>  “Well, if what Louie says is true, and S.H.U.S.H. wants these Tools of Creation for maleficent reasons, there’s no harm in getting our hands on it first. Right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room erupts in short nods and affirmative phrases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cool, cool, cool, we’re gonna save the world, nothing new. What I REALLY want to know is what does it do!? C’mon Lou, show us!” Dewey’s ever-young expressiveness demands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uhm… sure.” Louie stands to the now much more welcoming room, the tool he carried clenched firmly across his fingers. “So, I didn’t pay too much attention when they explained this part to me, I think there are like seven or eight of these things.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Six.” Violet corrects.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Six of these things. I think this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>relocation </span>
  </em>
  <span>one, that makes sense. I’m not super good at using it yet.” The jittery Duck triplet breaths out. “Here goes nothing.” As the final word leaves his lips, so does his body from the table he stood over. In the blink of any eye, with no one the wiser, almost as if he really was never there, Louie disappears. Quickly, the group scans the various corners of the room, eventually finding a somewhat out of breath Llewelyn wheezing inches in front of the various lit up displays. “Ta…..Da….!” He tries to celebrate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> A round of applause does respond, though short lived, as Dewey screams out. “AWESOME!” He stands, bolting besides his embarrassingly winded brother. “What else can it do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah…. Wait a minute….” The hunched over figure slowly gets himself back to a standing position. “I can also move objects, uhm, that’s how I survived being shot at. Uhhh-” He looks over the group. “Webby, throw something at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok-” Quickly the woman turns to the table, grabbing the first thing her arm could reach and just as quickly and aggressively tossing it over. This manner of grabbing and throwing leads to the map Huey carried being hurled threateningly fast in Louie’s general direction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The metal and glass tube slams onto his face, a high-pitched whine sounding before the object disappears, maintaining its velocity as it reappears behind him. Harm wasn’t avoided instead redistributed as the item dents one of the monitors, distorting its colors, shatters across the floor. The paper map slowly rolls out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My reaction time was better when my life was on the line.” Louie groans, massaging his reddened face. “But you get the jist, bullets touch my skin and instead of going through it, they teleport behind me. I would’ve preferred if it NEVER touched my skin, but you can’t win them all.” The exhausted and still recovering adventurer walks back to his seat as he says this, taking a breather as the final word trails off. “Oh-” He clenches the oddly shaped amulet once more, the map vaporizing and reforming in his palm. “Here’s the map.” The piece of parchment lands in the middle of the table after a half-hearted toss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So under more skillful hands, these tools could definitely be a dangerous weapon.” Violet does what she does best, intersect.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That just means we need to find them quickly.” Webby addresses the silver-lining, grabbing the map and spreading it over the table. The group hunches closer to the center, analyzing the piece of cartography. A crudely drawn world map with glowing and vibrating dots plastered over them, six of them of various different colors. The first one to be noticed is the blue pin placed directly over their current location.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huh, looks like it tracks too, this blue one would be Green.” Lena points out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and there seems to be another one in Duckburg.” Webby adds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I think that’s-” Dewey leans deeper. “-that’s Scrooge’s Mansion!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who would’ve thought.” Louie rolls his eyes. “The old geezer was probably there when they were made.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And this red one over here is in Tokyolk, we know a couple people there.” Huey suggests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These two are rather far removed, maybe it’s best we separate into two groups, one goes to Tokyolk, the other heads to the mansion. If S.H.U.S.H. is looking for us, it would probably be best we make sure the mansion is safe.” Violet speaks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll head to Tokyolk, I know a decent bit about it.” Huey underplays himself. “And I’ll take Dewey since he’s, for reasons beyond my understanding, our designated pilot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go with them too in case they need to open a jar that’s sealed a bit too tight.” Lena teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Real funny.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then the rest of us will go to the mansion.” Webby delegates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I go to Tokyolk instead?” Louie asks meekly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your new found powers would make a superb escape route if things were to go south in the mansion, you did say that would be where S.H.U.S.H. would search first.” Violet attempts to explain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Reduced to the runaway driver, thrilled.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Huey, Dewey, and Lena head over to Tokyolk to find the Tool of Creation before S.H.U.S.H.” Webby points to the mentioned members. “Violet, Louie, and I head to McDuck Manor to make sure it’s not compromised and see if Scrooge knows of the tools and/or has one. Understood?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About half of it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good enough!” The leader optimistically congratulates, “Team, we have a plan!”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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